


Prompted Writing: Star Trek DS9

by WriterToBridge



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Addiction, Age Regression/De-Aging, Age Swap, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Desert Setting, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Doppelgangers, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Library, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Autism, Bathing/Washing, Beating, Bets & Wagers, Blood, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Children, Crying, Damsels in Distress, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Drug Addiction, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Grooming, Gun Violence, Hair Washing, Handcuffs, Holodeck Character, Holodecks/Holosuites, Horror, Huddling For Warmth, Ice Skating, Injury, Interrogation, Kissing, Light Bondage, Lullabies, M/M, Manipulation, Marriage Proposal, Mind Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Near Death, Neck Kissing, Not Really Character Death, Overstimulation, Paralysis, Picnics, Pillow Fights, Possession, Resisting Fluff, Sakura (Cherry Blossoms), Shirtless, Singing, Slow Dancing, Stabbing, Stuffed Toys, Swords, Tattoos, Tickling, Transformation, Unrequited Love, Violence, Winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 99
Words: 152,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8263093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterToBridge/pseuds/WriterToBridge
Summary: Each chapter contains a different story based around Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. All stories are inspired by different prompts that are either posted on or are sent to my inbox on Tumblr.Ratings, pairings, and characters will vary from chapter to chapter. The specifics elements of each chapter will be specified in the notes before each story.If you'd like to send a prompt, please send them here.





	1. Bitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Kira Nerys, Odo, Nog, Benjamin Sisko, Julian Bashir, Khan Noonien Singh
> 
> Warnings: Violence, Blood
> 
> Prompt: _“I may have made a minor mistake and loosed a vampire on a pack of unsuspecting children. No big.”_ \+ _garashir vampire au_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/151621899523/prompted-writing-bitten)]

Garak heard the screams three blocks away. He wasn’t in position yet. He was certain no one was. Yet the wails of children echoing through the walled-in city combined with the darkening artificial morning sky told him that getting to his assigned position wasn’t necessary any longer.

The vampire escaped.

He could hear Major Kira cursing in his ear as he surged through the thickening crowd. Screams echoed around him. Panic swelled. His grew with it. Memories of a dark, cramped space lurched into his mind. He bit back the wave of nausea and fear as he tried to focus on the words barreling through his earpiece as fast as the figures that scampered past him.

“Nog, what the hell happened?!” Kira called. No one answered. The boy. Something had happened to him. Garak wasn’t surprised. A young boy couldn’t handle the likes of Khan Noonien Singh, even with the five man security team he was with. Garak said that before, away from the boy’s sensitive ears, but the Major and her Constable seemed convinced that their prison transference plan would work. How wrong they had been.

“I suggest we worry about that another time,” Garak said. He was astounded at how calm his voice seemed against his thudding heart.

“He’s heading towards the pavilion,” the Constable said.

Garak adjusted his route. Once the crowd around him thinned, he shot left across the traffic stilled street. The buildings thickened and grew the farther he went. With people veering away from the chaos, he was able to slip along the walkway and cut into the pavilion with ease. Reaching it took only seconds. The emergency sirens were already screaming. Metal shutters covered closed shop doors. Shop owners and patrons alike hid behind them, no doubt, waiting for the City Defense Force to arrive. Garak was the first to do so. Constable Odo was the second. He appeared in the square from an entrance to Garak’s right.

“Did you see him?” the Constable asked, his voice carrying well against the sirens.

“No.”

Someone screamed. Garak’s eyes jerked up to the second level of the pavilion. A woman clung desperately to the railing, her scared tremor noticeable even from that distance. He couldn’t see her face due to the long shroud of blond hair, but he could see the figure standing behind her. It’s elongated form pressed her against that railing with a tanned hand and a coy smile. Blood circled his lips. Garak nearly spoke, witty banter waiting to escape from his mouth, but the escapee spoke first, his voice carrying as well as Odo’s had over the high-pitched cries of the siren.

“One last parting gift,” was all he said. Then Singh flung the girl over the railing. Her screams mirrored the siren’s. Garak bolted forward and barely managed to catch the woman before she smashed onto the pavement. Her broken sob was all he needed to hear. She was alive.

“Third floor, next to Quark’s. I’m in pursuit,” the Constable said into his earpiece. Footsteps stomped away, no doubt heading for the stairs. Garak would have followed, but his arms were occupied by a trembling woman that wouldn’t let him go. His part in the chase was over. The rest of the chase would end soon after.

Khan Singh was a free man once again.

————

Thirty minutes after the chase was called off, Garak found himself in Benjamin Sisko’s office. The Defense Force Captain wasn’t happy to hear about Singh’s escape. Garak didn’t blame him. He certainly wasn’t happy about it either. Neither were Major Kira and Constable Odo, both of whom stood to Garak’s left during the entire course of the meeting. Though “meeting” wasn’t what Garak wanted to call it. “Excessively loud reprimand” would have been far more accurate.

It was there that Sisko revealed the gravity of what had happened.

Nog hadn’t answered Kira’s call because Singh had attacked him. That much was obvious from the beginning. What wasn’t obvious was how bad off the boy was. He’d been bitten. One of the security officers in the caravan nearly killed Nog on the spot. If Singh hadn’t attacked the rest of them and bolted, Nog would have died by the hands of his own ally. It was decided that he needed to be placed in the medical ward in the main City Defense Force office, just floors under where their little “meeting” took place. It was secure, of course, which was good. Nog was already feeling the side effects of the bite. Either he would die within the next two hours or he’d turn. If he did that, there was a good chance that they’d have to kill the boy themselves. People that were forced to turn often went mad. Nog would be no exception. The staff was just hanging onto the hope that it wouldn’t happen.

Once they were dismissed, Garak walked in silence through the office halls and entered the medical ward. Two security officers were stationed outside one room – no doubt Nog’s. They nodded at him. He nodded back and stepped inside the faded medical room.

Garak noticed a figure standing over the bed just as the doors shut behind him. He expected it to be Nog’s father, but it wasn’t. This one was too tall, too, slim, too tan. Too much like Singh. The figure’s back was to him, which was probably why it hadn’t ran the moment Garak opened the door. It gave him time to pull his gun from it’s holster and aim.

“Turn around.”

The figure stilled. A soft cough permeated the silence between them. It came from Nog.

“Step away from him and turn around.”

It did. It wasn’t Singh. It was a man, but his boyish yet still adult face didn’t match the escapee’s at all. But even without matching features, Garak could tell they were the same creature. A vampire. He wanted to ask how the man got in, but the doors opening behind him stunted the words. The outside guards stepped in. The man’s hands slowly lifted up. Something was tucked between the middle and pointer finger of his left hand. A syringe. It was empty.

“What was in that little syringe of yours?” Garak asked. Though his words would have teetered on playfulness, his voice showed none of it. He knew what was in that syringe – something to counteract the madness, something to keep young Nog alive, something to allow the vampires access to Nog’s life experiences so they could use their own man against them. When he asked, Garak wasn’t expecting an answer. He was expecting to fish one out of the man later. Instead, an English accent surfaced as two simple words escaped the vampire’s mouth.

“The antidote.”

Garak ordered the two men to escort the vampire to a holding cell while he called Captain Sisko. The Captain, along with the Constable, joined him in the medical ward as doctors swarmed into Nog’s room to assess the damage. Garak explained what he knew. They stood in the hall chatting about possible entries and plans to find out when the lead doctor stepped from the room and approached.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said, “He was in the third stage of transitioning but now it’s like he was never bitten at all. He’s human again. Whatever that man gave him saved his life.”

————

Garak approached the holding cell and stared at the vampire inside. The vampire didn’t look back. His golden eyes were focused on his hands, which were laced together in front of him.

“Your little antidote did the trick,” Garak said. Golden eyes flicked towards him as the man’s head lifted up. “The boy’s human again.”

The man sighed and smiled. It didn’t last. He stared down at his hands again as the frown returned. There was something more relaxed about his posture though. His shoulders and hands eased.

“I imagine that Khan Singh will not be nearly as happy as you are about these rather fortunate circumstances of ours,” Garak said.

“I don’t care what Khan thinks,” the man said. Venom coated each word.

“Really? That hardly seems appropriate for one of Singh’s loyal followers to say.”

“I’m not one of his followers,” the man said. He looked up. Those gold eyes were fierce, but hardly imposing. There was no violent intent. That alone was surprising enough. “The only reason I was with him for so long was because I had no other choice. He told me if I ever left that he’d kill my parents. Now they’re dead and I have no reason to stay.”

“So now you use your freedom to help Khan’s enemies.”

“No. I use it to keep others from suffering like I did.” A pause. The gold eyes turned away. “I just want to help.”

Garak had come across a lot of liars in his time. This was not one of them. This vampire seemed as honest as Nog – there was even something innocent about him still, despite the monstrous side slipping through his veins. If this little story of his checked out, they could have a valuable ally in this man. For the moment, he played as if the man’s story was true.

“What is your name?” Garak asked.

“Julian Bashir.”

“Well, Mr. Bashir, I believe we could make some sort of arrangement with you if you’re willing to assist us.”

“What kind of arrangement?”

“Our Captain is willing to offer you amnesty in exchange for the antidote formula and some information.”

It wasn’t entirely true. There was no amnesty on the table. But he knew when a man was willing to talk and Mr. Bashir was at that point. Whatever the man knew, Garak wanted it. He would take the risk of the amnesty claim falling through. After all, it wasn’t the first time he’d told that lie. And this wasn’t the first time one of their prisoners accepted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to expand on this idea and write a novel for it, which will be posted on AO3, but separate to this prompt fill collection. Once I've started posting it, I'll provide a link to the story here and erase this explanatory text.


	2. The Order Of Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak
> 
> Prompt: _“I feel like this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me.”_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/151675420683/prompted-writing-the-order-of-things)]
> 
> There's some making out involved. No sexy times though. I'm not super comfortable writing smut. Sorry.

Julian had questions. The first, and loudest, of them being:

Why was Garak standing in front of him?

There were two explanations for this. The first was that this was really Garak and he’d broken into his Holosuite. Again. That wouldn’t be a surprise. Garak never cared about the legality of his actions, especially when it came to getting what he wanted. The second option, though, was that the suit-clad Cardassian in front of him was thrust into his program by mistake. Something could have happened which would have forced the computer to store Garak’s data into the holographic fantasy. Neither option sat well in Julian’s chest. Especially since he knew the key to his handcuffs were tucked between the Cardassian’s fingers and the only way out of them was hovering inches above his face, enraptured in a small, coy smile.

“Come now, Doctor, surely you want out of those wretched handcuffs,” Garak said.

_Doctor._ Well that certainly settled the matter. Julian narrowed his eyes and straightened his back as much as the rigid, metal chair would allow.

“You know I do,” Julian answered, his voice taking a far darker and far flatter tone than he would ever normally allow. Garak leaned closer. Julian could make out the red leaf tea that curled and twisted along the Cardassian’s hot breath. The scent played with the edge of his nose and brushed along his steadily drying lips.

“Then what is it you’re waiting for?”

“I could just shut off the program.”

“You could, but the suggestion hardly merits intent, Doctor. If you truly meant to shut down the program, you would have done so. Instead, you simply stated that you could, which means that you are either searching for another way out of this lamentable position of yours or you have wondered what it was like to kiss a Cardassian tailor for far longer than you’ve let on. Regardless of your true objective, you’re running out of time and, if I may make a suggestion, perhaps you should act before your little Honey Bear is lost.”

Julian stared at that calm, charmed face with darkened eyes. This was worse than Garak’s first Holosuite intrusion. The first time Garak just tagged along and mocked his fantasy while they attempted to keep Julian’s friends alive. This time, though, Garak thrust himself into a key role with knowledge that Julian attempted to hide for months. Yes, he liked Garak. Yes, he’d thought about kissing Garak. He’d thought about doing other things with Garak as well, but he smothered those fantasies before they went too far. He’d assumed that Garak wouldn’t be interested. Part of Julian still believed he wasn’t and that this was some sick game to the Cardassian. Revenge, perhaps, for keeping Garak in the dark about his feelings for so long. But there he was, hovering mere centimeters away from his face, waiting for Julian to act. There were only two ways out of this situation and Julian knew it. He could either shut down the program or kiss the suited tailor.

He opted for the kiss.

Julian closed the space between them and pressed his lips to Garak’s. He’d intended the kiss to last only a second – long enough to get what he wanted – but Garak kissed back with a force strong enough to drive Julian back against the chair. A moan edged out of Julian’s throat. It told of his surprise at first. But as Garak’s lips pressed harder into his and the Cardassian’s hands spread over his chest, Julian’s moan melted into one that voiced his approval, his yearning, and then his hunger. He needed this. He needed it far more than he could ever anticipated. He tried to show his need unconsciously through the continued clash of their lips, through his exploratory tongue, through his pushes towards the Cardassian’s warmth. Garak seemed to respond in kind, with his hands brushing over Julian’s shoulders, down his arms, and finally to the metal cuffs that circled Julian’s wrists. But the Cardassian’s lips pulled away.

“Well, I would say your freedom has been well earned, Mr. Bashir,” Garak said, a slight tease coating his words. The key brushed against Julian’s hand and ventured to the keyhole.

“W-wait.”

Garak stopped. Julian watched the Cardassian’s eyes as they searched his face. He bit his lips and swallowed under the gaze. Then a smile pulled at Garak’s lips and a dark luster curtained his eyes.

“Computer,” Garak said, “Freeze program.”

A beep sounded. Julian watched Garak lean away from him.

“Are you certain this is what you want, Doctor?” Garak asked, “I’m not like one of your various holosuite figures. I’ll have desires outside of this little room.”

“I won’t need the programs if I have you.”

The smile on Garak’s face grew as it closed in.

“Well said.”

They shared another kiss.


	3. Tattooed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir (mentions Sisko, Kira, and Odo)
> 
> Prompt: _"Garak and Bashir make a bet loser has to get a tattoo on their butt ok y'all finish the rest I can’t think ready set GO"_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/151874477003/vulcannic-garak-and-bashir-make-a-bet-loser-has)]
> 
> There's an established relationship here. And some form of kissing. No smut.

“Are you certain you wish to make this wager, Doctor?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t serious.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t have.”

Garak looked away from his young medical companion and towards the promenade with silent fascination. Lunchtime settled across the station with the same sprightly spirit that many recent afternoons offered. Perhaps that jovial energy was what pushed this little bet of the Doctor’s. No doubt some of his optimism had transformed into a false confidence over the past few hours. Or Doctor Bashir truly believed that he’d be the victor. It hardly mattered. Garak hadn’t toyed with agreeing because he was certain he’d win. Life on the station was staling in this newfound peace and Garak was all but done with it. He needed something to change. Even if that change happened on his own backside, it would be welcome. Though, he hoped for a different outcome.

“Tell me Doctor, what are the odds of you winning this wager of yours?” Garak asked as he looked back towards his lunchtime companion. Their eyes met.

“Is knowing the mathematics going to make you back out?”

“Not at all. In fact, I agree to your terms now. I’m simply curious as to the risk your putting upon yourself.”

“There’s a 62.9 percent chance that it’ll happen and a 37.1 percent chance that it won’t.”

“Well that hardly seems like a fair wager to present, Doctor.”

“You expected fifty, fifty?”

“Oh no, of course not. And if you had presented me with such a wager, I really would have lost all hope for you.”

The Doctor smiled. It was pleasant but there was a newborn mischievousness to it – one that Garak had grown more and more accustomed to over the past few months. He only saw flashes of it, usually lingering in the dimmed light of his quarters when the Doctor payed a late-night visit, but as their relationship progressed, that playful smirk arose more often. It still wasn’t frequent enough, in Garak’s opinion.

“Here they come,” the Doctor said. Garak looked towards the promenade and there, through the sifting crowd, appeared Captain Sisko and Major Kira walking side-by-side, chatting about something in a tone that was far beyond Garak’s hearing range. Pity. Though their words made no difference for their bet. Garak watched as the other Bajorans seemed to make room for their slow walk and they, in turn, didn’t seem to notice. It’d happened far too often, no doubt. From the other side of the shifting sea of figures emerged Constable Odo who stood straight, jagged, hyper-aware. He cut through the crowd and towards the Captain and the Major. He arrived. They all stopped. Conversation centered around the Captain and the Constable. Nods were exchanged. And then the dispersed. The Captain and the Major continued on their slow paced walk and the Constable jaunted off in the direction the two had come from. The encounter was over. Garak looked over at the Doctor. His grave, darkened face said it all.

“I don’t understand,” the Doctor said, “This was supposed to be it.”

“Perhaps an invitation was meant to be extended at another time and place, Doctor,” Garak answered, a mischievous smile of his own pressing onto his lips, “Now, about that tattoo.”

————

The merry mood that resonated through the station really was contagious. Over the next two days, Garak found it more and more difficult to hide a smile or keep from humming during his work – something that he reserved for far more special occasions. He was certain that mood would have carried over to the Doctor under normal circumstances, but Doctor Bashir really did seem to haul his own darkened cloud since he lost their little bet. It would pass in time. It always did.

On the second night after their bet, as Garak prepared to settle down with a rather interesting Cardassian mystery, his door chime went off.

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened and his tall, thin Doctor walked in. The frown, furrowed brow, and dropped uniform top told Garak everything. Garak sat on the couch and reached out to his younger companion.

“Let me see it, Doctor.”

Doctor Bashir stalked over to him, though that cloud he carried seemed to dissipate with each step. Garak rested his hands on the Doctor’s hips as soon as he was close enough. He turned the Doctor around and pulled the uniform down enough to reveal the newly etched in black ink on the curve of the man’s left butt cheek. The Cardassian letters were perfect. Brilliantly done. Whomever did the work deserved all the latinum Garak’s heart could give, though the artist wouldn’t see a sliver more than what the good Doctor gave him.

“Are you going to tell me what it says now?” Doctor Bashir asked. Garak was certain the Doctor wanted irritation to pour from the words but the edge wasn’t quite there.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t take the time to figure out these words on your own, Doctor,” Garak said as he rubbed his thumb over the familiar letters.

“I did,” the Doctor said, wriggling a little under Garak’s touch, “I just wanted to hear you say them.”

Ever the romantic. Garak smiled softly and pressed his thumb gently into the marked flesh. The Doctor mewled. It was still sensitive then. It wasn’t a surprise. A post-tattoo dermal re-generator could only do so much.

“Perhaps if you ask nicely,” Garak said. Then he leaned forward and kissed the Cardassian letters one by one, which spelled out, simply, “ _My Earth Flower”_.


	4. Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Jadzia Dax, Julian Bashir, Benjamin Sisko
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: _Write a conversation where one person is begging the other to stay with them. It cannot be a love story of any type._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152042741863/prompted-writing-stay)]

“Have you found a way to reverse it?” Benjamin asked.

Jadzia wanted to say yes. She did. But she couldn’t. The anomaly was so direct, so precise, that reversing the process seemed almost impossible at that point. She looked over the medical readings again but she knew they couldn’t have changed in the last two minutes.

“I haven’t,” she answered, “But I will find one. It’s just going to take some time.”

“You can continue your work in the morning.”

Jadzia looked over at the Captain, her mouth slacked.

“Benjamin–”

“I know fixing this problem is a priority, Dax, but you’ve been working at this all day. We all have. Let one of the nurses look over the notes tonight and report to you in the morning.”

Benjamin left. Jadzia read over the medical file one last time. In truth, the readings were perfectly normal for a seven-year-old boy. The problem was the boy in question was supposed to be a thirty-three-year-old man. For some reason, while Doctor Julian Bashir slept peacefully in his quarters, he reverted back to being a child. The boy had no explanation for this. In fact, he didn’t know where he was or what he was doing there. The only reason anyone found him was because he didn’t turn up in the infirmary for work and one of the nurses called security to go check his quarters. Odo discovered the young boy in the corner of the bedroom with his stuffed bear entangled in his arms.

The senior staff spent the last twenty-two hours trying to figure out what happened. At first Julian, who refused to go by anything except “Jules”, outright rejected the option of going to the infirmary. “No more Doctors,” he’d said. They tried to run some tests in ops, but the equipment wasn’t designed for medical purposes. Odo tried to talk Jules into going to the infirmary anyway, but his somewhat irritated tone set the boy off. He began to cry. A reunion with his bear, Kukalaka, quelled his tears but did nothing to urge him into the infirmary. It took a combination of Miles O’Brien and Benjamin Sisko’s fatherly coaxing to get Jules to change his mind. O’Brien still had to carry Jules to the infirmary. Although his teal uniform top covered him up, it made walking difficult and they simply had no other clothes to give him. Garak said he could make something, but Jadzia, along with the rest of the senior staff, hoped that he wouldn’t have to.

Jadzia spent the rest of the day, up until that point, in the infirmary. She hadn’t even left for lunch or dinner. Worf brought her and Jules both food at some point, but she couldn’t remember how long ago that was. She hadn’t ate much then. She’d have to eat before she slept, Jadzia decided as she walked away from the console and headed for the infirmary door.

“Jadzia.”

The light, tiny English voice stopped her movements. She glanced over to the bed Jules was placed in hours ago. He was still there, legs tucked underneath that baggy top and arms still wrapped around his ragged bear. Brown eyes spied her from his position in that dimmed room.

“Jules,” she said with a smile as she approached his bed, “I didn’t think you’d be awake.”

His eyes flicked to his bear as his small fingers pulled gently at the fur coating the thing’s ears.

“Are you gonna leave me?” he asked. He sounded so fragile, so scared, that it nearly broke her heart. He had to force her smile to stay.

“Only for the night,” Jadzia said. She placed her hand on the boy’s arm. “But I promise I’ll be back first thing in the morning. Nurse Acu will be here to take care of you. If you need anything, you can ask her.”

“Why can’t you stay?” Jules asked. He finally made eye contact with her again. She gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

“I have to get some sleep.”

“You can sleep here.”

“I’m not sure my husband would approve.”

Jules looked down at that tattered bear again and continued to pick at it’s fur. Jadzia watched him with a deteriorating resolve. The poor boy. If she left him alone she could never forgive herself, even if an older Julian would forgive her. She sighed and rubbed his arm.

“You know, I think Captain Sisko has a spare bed in his quarters,” she said. Those brown eyes lifted up to meet her gaze. “I bet he’d let you stay with him if I asked really nicely. Would that be alright?”

Jules nodded. Some form of light returned to the boy’s face. Her smile grew as she pressed her comm badge.

“Dax to Sisko.”

“Go ahead,” the Captain said. He sounded as tired as she felt.

“Benjamin, you still have Jake’s old bed in your quarters, right?”

“Yes.”

“I was wondering if Jules could stay with you for the night,” she said, “He doesn’t want to stay in the infirmary by himself.”

“I’ll be good,” Jules said. Jadzia rubbed his arm again as Benjamin sighed softly. It was a good sigh. A surrendering one.

“Alright, but you’re getting a full night’s rest, young man,” Benjamin said.

Jules’s face erupted with a bright smile. Jadzia chuckled.

“I’ll bring him by in a few minutes, Benjamin. Thank you.”

Jadzia wrapped his arms around Jules and scooped him up from the bed with his bear still curled in his arms. As she walked to the lift, Jules’s head drooped to her shoulder. By the time they reached Benjamin’s quarters, the boy was fast asleep.


	5. Love Doubtfully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Kira Nerys, Gul Dukat, Odo, Julian Bashir
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: _The protagonist and the antagonist fight for the love of the narrator._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152099985183/prompted-writing-love-doubtfully)]

I was not meant to be a damsel in distress. I mean, what kind of idiot allows themselves to get caught by a super villain? Not me. I know better. At least I _thought_ I knew better.

I’m still not sure how Dukat managed it but somehow he broke into my apartment and took me, unnoticed, across town in broad daylight. If I had been able to talk, or move, or was aware of anything, I would have kicked his ass in front of everyone in Hathon. But no. He went unimpeded to his secret lair and strapped me down to some awful metal chair and that’s where I was when I had the displeasure of waking up to see his smirking, pompous face.

If I could have punched him, I would have.

“Kira, it’s nice of you to finally join me,” he said the same effortless, loathsome voice I’ve heard him use for years.

“What do you want, Dukat?” I asked.

“To talk!” he answered. He walked away as he continued to speak. “We so rarely have any conversations anymore and I have missed your company.” He dragged a chair over, placed it in front of me, and sat down. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“Sure you do,” he said with that same self-indulgent smirk still plastered on his face, “We haven’t talked in months. Surely there’s something you’d like to discuss.”

“You want to talk about something? Alright. Let’s talk about the one-hundred-two people you murdered four months ago with that mass targeting disruptor of yours.”

“I did it for you.”

I stared at him in silence for a second. I couldn’t believe the audacity, the nerve, to say the deaths of over one-hundred people were for me. I wasn’t even there at the time of the attack. How could that have possibly been for me? I scoffed.

“You can’t honestly expect me to believe that.”

“No, but it’s true,” Dukat said as he leaned forward. He was so close I could smell red leaf tea on his breath. “I wanted to show you how powerful I am, Kira. I wanted to show you that I can protect you. And I am still willing to. I know we’ve had our differences but we can be together.”

“I don’t want to be with you, Dukat!”

“You say that now, but I think you’ll grow to accept this connection we have,” he said, leaning back. That damn smile of his never left. Not for one second. He had control and he knew it. What was I going to do? Scream for help? Who was going to hear me and actually bother to help? All I could do was keep talking to him and hope that someone, anyone, would cut in and put a stop to his stupid game.

“And what if I don’t?” I asked.

“Then I’ll be gravely disappointed,” Dukat answered, “And you’ll be here as a prisoner for quite some time.”

“Prisoner?!”

“You don’t expect me to let you go, do you?” he asked, “After I went through all the trouble of bringing you here.”

“I do,” a new voice called from behind him. My eyes flicked towards it. There, in the entryway, was Odo. The Changling, as the rest of the world knew him. His uniform was ripped in a couple places. He’d fought his way through this place to get to us, to me. I’d never been more grateful to see Odo in my life, and that’s saying something.

Dukat rose from his chair and turned to face him. My view of Odo was suddenly blocked by Dukat’s bony ass. I resorted to looking at the ceiling.

“I don’t believe you were invited,” Dukat said.

“I let myself in,” Odo responded.

“I suppose you’re here to save Kira.”

“That’s right.”

“And I suppose you also believe that you could love her more than I do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well that is why you’re here, isn’t it? To save her from my clutches so you can show your undying love for her in a heroic way? Why else would you have come here without your loyal and trusting band of superheroes?”

“My feelings for Nerys–”

“Nerys! You’re even on a first name basis. How touching.”

“Could you two continue this ‘who loves Kira more’ contest another time?” I asked. Everything about this situation was awful. Being chained to a chair was already bad, but now I had to hear these two go back and forth about their feelings and I really just had enough of the whole thing. I rather they actually fight than spend any more time squabbling about who loved me more.

“If you insist,” Dukat said.

And then the fight began. Thank goodness. I knew both Dukat and Odo would be battling it out for sometime. They were both super-powered and had the stamina of four armies of men. Watching their fight would have been entertaining, sure, but I had more important things to worry about. Like getting out of that damn chair.

The restraints were metal like the chair was. My wrists and ankles were only fastened down but all four of the restraints were closed with a lock which required a key. There wasn’t enough room to slide my hands or feet through. Any attempt started to cut my skin and would probably have ripped it off if I kept trying. I really was a damn damsel in distress. Unbelievable. I had barely been in Hathon for two years and this was already what my life had devolved into.

My attention was called back to the fight when I heard someone cry out. It was Dukat. Somehow Odo had sent him sprawling across his own lair floor. He wasn’t getting up. After a moment, Odo turned and headed towards me.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Just fine. He didn’t want to hurt me. What about you?”

“My injuries are nothing serious,” he answered. His hand moved towards the first lock and transformed into a gooey substance. It entered the keyhole and unlocked the first lock. The others fell off just as quickly. I was grateful to stand. I was more grateful to be face-to-face with a friend.

“Can you believe the nerve of that guy?” I asked him, glancing over to the motionless man, “Taking me from my own apartment and dragging me here to profess his love. And then suggesting that you have feelings for me too?”

Odo didn’t say anything. I expected a joke, a line, something, but all I got was silence. I looked over. He wasn’t looking at me. He wasn’t looking at Dukat either. He was in his own mind, trying to figure out what to say. The only reason why he would do that is if–

Oh.

“Odo,” I said, facing him fully, “Do you actually…?”

“I have for quite some time,” he answered. He still didn’t look at me.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“Of course I–”

“Sorry I’m late!” The new voice made me jump. I glared over at the entryway. There was The Doctor, Julian Bashir, in full costume with a smile plastered across his face. “I had to go back home and get my uniform. Did I miss anything?”

“You missed the whole fight,” I said. My irritation was clear. Julian’s eyes glanced over at the unconscious body of Dukat and his smile drained away.

“Damn,” he said, “Well, at least let me take him to the jail.”

“You go right ahead,” I answered.

Julian scooped up Dukat’s unconscious body and left without another word. Good. I sighed. My eyes turned back to Odo. He was looking at me at least, so there was that. I gave him a smile.

“What do you say to dinner?” I asked, “Seven o’clock tomorrow. We can go to that new place on 5th street.”

“The one next to Quark’s?”

“That’s the one.”

Finally, Odo smiled at me. It was soft. Gentle, even.

“I’d like that,” he said.


	6. That's No Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Gul Dukat
> 
> Some violence.
> 
> Prompt: _Your guardian angel is terrible at his/her job. You filed a complaint to the heaven’s office requesting replacement. The answer was “We never sent you one.”_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152150257053/prompted-writing-thats-no-angel)]

_Dear Mister Bashir,_

_We regret to inform you that we never sent one of our guardians your way and we do not have an angel by the name of “Elim Garak” in our database._

_Please do not inform your guardian that you’re aware of this._

_We will be sending a representative to check in on you and observe your guardian in action. Once we determine what kind of creature he is, we will arrest him and take him into processing. After he’s been taken, one of our real guardians will be assigned to you. It is imperative that you behave in a natural manner until the situation is handled._

_Best Regards,_

_Dukat_

They had taken Garak away two weeks ago, yet Julian still held onto the letter the Heavenly Office of Protection and Ease sent back to him. He hadn’t wanted Garak to be arrested. He just wanted the man to change a little. Garak wasn’t acting like an angel and the man’s actions were starting to get Julian in trouble. Minor skirmishes, in hindsight, but at the time they seemed like apocalyptic problems. Late nights, early mornings, bad choices, all which accumulated to falling asleep at work and being chastised by his boss, who also happened to be an ex-lover. Ouch. He couldn’t let it happen again. So he’d sent a letter to Garak’s office and asked for them to step in. His original letter had worded the request as, “a reprimand or a replacement, if conversations aren’t how matters are handled at H.O.P.E.”. 

He shouldn’t have sent the letter at all.

His new guardian – the real guardian – was bland, boring. Julian couldn’t even carry a conversation with the guy. It wasn’t for a lack of trying. He wanted to be as kind and open with him as he had been with Garak, but any attempt to break through to him were simply lost. The guardian didn’t do anything beyond the basic requirements of his job. It made Julian regret his choice even more.

After a moment, he threw the letter back in his desk drawer and slammed it shut. He didn’t move though. His eyes remained frozen on the desk surface like somehow he could read the words through it. He couldn’t, of course, but his brain cycled through them again anyway. It always did. He had the letter memorized two days after he got it.

Once his brain settled onto “Best Regards”, a hand clasped over his mouth and jerked him back. His back hit a torso. His hands flung up to rip the offending arm away. His right hand made it to the foreign wrist, but his left arm was gripped tightly and pulled away.

“Don’t move, Doctor.”

It was Garak. Julian flicked his eyes back and caught the man’s face out of his peripherals. Garak wasn’t looking at him but, instead, out the window just above his desk.

“I’m afraid the situation is far more complicated than you realize,” Garak whispered, “The heads of the organization wish to eliminate all traces that I ever worked for them, which includes eliminating you. We have to go.”

Julian tried to speak into Garak’s hand but the man’s fingers pressed harder against his face. Icy eyes flashed towards him.

“Not one word.”

Julian nodded. He wasn’t sure if he believed Garak. He had no reason to. But, in truth, he had no reason to believe H.O.P.E. either. Even if he had to skate around half-truths and blatant lies, Julian was far more likely to get answers out of Garak than he was the new guy. He had to go, if only to feed his curiosity.

Garak’s hand dropped away from his mouth but didn’t let go of Julian’s wrist. “Stay close to me,” Garak said, “But if I tell you to run, do it without hesitation regardless of the circumstances.”

Julian nodded again. Garak let go of his wrist, walked to the window, and opened it. He stepped out onto the lawn. Julian followed. The crisp fall air was far colder than Julian anticipated. His pajamas and bare feet certainly weren’t helping either. He shivered and folded his arms over his chest in an unconscious attempt to save his hands from the cold. They cut across the yard and headed down the street. Garak avoided all of the streetlights. Julian followed suit. Soon he found them three blocks away and Julian wasn’t getting any warmer.

It was then he heard a noise. A scrape. He jumped and peered back to find the source. Before his eyes made contact, a hand latched onto his right arm and jerked him forward. Julian practically toppled on top of Garak, who’d ducked behind a car. Julian crouched down with him.

Footsteps pattered against the pavement nearby. They stopped a moment later. A sigh permeated the bitter air.

“Is this game of yours really necessary, Garak?” a voice asked, “Surely you could have found a better time for hide-and-seek.”

“I believe this is a good a time as any, Dukat,” Garak answered. Julian looked over at him. Garak wasn’t looking his way but he could tell by the man’s stiff shoulders that he wouldn’t normally be striking up a conversation in this position. This conversation was entirely for Julian.

“I suppose this whole trip is so you can attempt to save your dear Doctor,” the man, Dukat, said. Garak didn’t answer. “It’s not going to work, you know. It’s already been decided. His death, and yours, are no longer negotiable.”

There was a step. A glow.

“Run!” Garak said. Julian bolted across the nearby yard, jumped the fence, and ducked behind a bush. He knew Garak would want him to go farther, but he wasn’t about to leave the man behind. There was bright clashing of white and blue that rose and fell like thunder against the black sky. Julian huddled and waited. There was a yell, a crash, a car alarm. Dogs barked. A final flash cut across the night.

Julian popped his head around the bush and looked. The car he and Garak ducked behind was still there. The car across the street, however, was smashed to near decimation. A figure was smashed into the side of it so hard that the metal form was practically on the sidewalk. Despite that, the figure was still moving. Just barely.

Julian hopped back over the fence and rushed to the man. It only took half the yard’s distance for him to realize that it was Garak. That only made him run faster. Once he got there, he started to examine wounds. He ran his adept fingers over Garak’s shoulders, arms, torso, hips.

“I told you to run, Doctor,” Garak said. There was a strain in his words.

“I did,” Julian said, “You didn’t say I couldn’t come back though.”

“I believed such a thought would be common sense.”

“We need to get you to a hospital. Your injuries–”

“Will heal. I’m not like one of your human patients, Doctor. I just need somewhere to rest. Somewhere that Dukat and his men aren’t going to find us.”

Julian glanced up at his face. Garak stared back. He was in pain, that was clear enough, but the sincerity was also there. While the lack of medical care disturbed him, he wouldn’t be able to explain any angelic healing abilities to doctors even with his Ph.D.

He glanced around the street briefly. No one had left their houses but there was no doubt the police would be here soon. They had to leave quickly. And with Garak in the condition he was in, the only way they could do that is to steal a car. Julian turned towards the car they’d used as shelter before, folded his arm, and smashed out the driver’s side window with his elbow. It hurt but he’d take care of it later. He reached in, unlocked the doors, helped Garak off of the shattered remains of the other car, and pushed the injured angel into the passenger’s seat. By the time he climbed into the driver’s seat, Garak had used his powers to start the car.

“Where do you plan on taking us?” Garak asked. Julian pulled away from the curb and down the street.

“I have a friend who owes me a favor,” he answered.

“Whatever favor he owes you would hardly match up to the danger you’re going to put him in, Doctor.”

“He can handle himself.”

“You seem so certain of that.”

“Well, he isn’t exactly human himself.”

“Oh? This friend of yours, what’s his name?”

Julian smiled just a little.

“Quark.”


	7. Scale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Damar
> 
> Warnings: Blood, a bite wound.
> 
> Prompt: _"I need one scale, but not at the price of hurting anyone."_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/tagged/prompted-writing)]

Julian curled himself underneath the cliff and pushed his back against the jagged surface so he could fully hide beneath the only shade around. It wasn’t comfortable. To be fair, nothing about this situation was comfortable. He’d only volunteered to trek through the desert and search for one of these creatures, these Cardassians, because they needed one of their gray scales. One preferably large scale, sure, but only one. The rest of the village was willing to kill for it. Julian couldn’t allow that. No one had to die for them to get what they wanted.

At least he hoped not.

He nursed water of out the bottle he stowed under his beige robe, next to his small medicinal kit. The water was warm at this point, but it still was refreshing. Rejuvenating, even. A natural energy returned to him and brought strength back to his legs. He’d stand soon. Stand and walk towards what the village counsel believed was a Cardassian home site. He had another few hours to go, but if he got in, retrieved a scale, and fled, Julian was sure he could make it home before the sun dipped and the monstrous desert voles woke up.

After one more sip, Julian tucked the bottle away again. He needed to get going. His fingers reached for his scarf and he prepared to wrap the fabric around his nose and mouth again. His motions were hindered, however, when a face popped over the ridge and directly cut off his line of sight. He screamed. Then he looked over that new face.

It was gray. Gray and scaled and wide. Open blue eyes bore into him and a smile, hardly pleasant, was smeared over it. Even though it was upside-down, Julian was sure he knew what he was staring at.

A Cardassian.

Julian had only seen a Cardassian once in his life. Years ago, some village elders paraded a dead one through the town and praised the hunters that struck it down with stone-tipped arrows. It attacked, the hunters said. Even as a child, Julian hadn’t been sure of that. Under all those scales, that Cardassian looked too human. He wondered if the Cardassian had family, children, and if they knew of his death, or how they would respond if they ever found out. For weeks, Julian stayed up at night waiting for an army of Cardassian solders to surge through town and slaughter everyone to appease their, albeit rumored, taste for revenge. It never happened. And years later, Julian found himself working with the very scales that Cardassian left behind.

“A human!” the Cardassian cooed. His eyes narrowed but that smile never wavered. “Well, you’re certainly far from home, aren’t you? Have you people decided to exile you?”

“No,” Julian whispered.

“No?” The Cardassian asked. The creature slipped off the ledge and landed on his feet, directly in front of Julian. “Then you’ve wandered this far from your enchanting little town on purpose? This is hardly a climate for your fragile human form. You must be after something rather important. Let me guess. You’re either searching for some mythical item that you believe will grant you immeasurable power, or you’re searching for a Cardassian so you can procure some of our scales.”

Julian blinked.

“How did you–”

“Despite the distance between our little settlements, word travels quite fast. We’re entirely aware of your village’s rather savage practice of using our dead’s scales for medicinal purposes.” Julian adverted his gaze. “I shouldn’t think that there’s a Cardassian alive that would willingly hand over a single plate of their skin to help your kind.”

“What was his name?” Julian asked.

Silence.

“I beg your pardon?” the Cardassian asked. Julian looked up again. Pure confusion had crossed over the creature’s face. The smile that had so loyally been pressed over the man’s lips had vanished.

“The Cardassian. The one my people killed. What was his name?”

Silence answered him again. That surprised stare didn’t waver. Not until the man blinked and let his eyes narrow. That smile, though, never returned.

“Ghemor,” the Cardassian said, “He had discussed a peaceful resolution between our races for weeks prior to his murder.”

Julian looked away again. So that was it, then. Ghemor attempted to build a bridge between their people and it got him killed. That was assuming what this Cardassian said was true. That was twenty years ago. The story could’ve been twisted and warped to fit a different narrative; one that painted humans as monsters.

“You’re not a hunter, are you?” the Cardassian said. Julian shook his head.

“I’m a healer.”

“A healer.” An air of delight returned to the Cardassian’s voice. Julian lifted his gaze. That smiled had returned but there was something different about it. Something less menacing. “And I’m to assume that you can prove that.”

Julian blinked.

“I can try, but–”

The Cardassian put up his hand.

“I am aware that there are differences between Cardassian and human physiology,” he said, “But since you’ve come to understand our scales so well, I’m certain you know far more about our forms than you believe. Come with me.”

The Cardassian stood and waited. Julian stared for a second before he wrapped up his face in his scarf and stood as well. He followed the man for several meters to the west; away from the possible Cardassian settlement. A cave appeared. No one said anything about a cave back at the village. If they had, Julian would have traveled to it instead for his break. Perhaps it was a good thing he hadn’t known.

They entered. It took a moment for Julian’s eyes to adjust to the drastic change in lighting, but the moment they did, he noticed another Cardassian sitting against the wall, one of his gray hands pressed against an injury on his right side. His face read tired, drained, pain-filled, and, most importantly, angry.

“Garak, what–”

“He claims to be a healer, Damar. I wanted to see if there was any truth to it.”

“So you’re going to have him attempt to heal me?”

“Can you think of a better alternative?”

The new Cardassian, Damar, fell silent. His eyes flicked down to his hand, that wound. Julian looked from the injured Cardassian to his first “companion”, Garak. Their eyes locked. Garak nodded. Julian took off his scarf, pulled out his medicinal kit, opened it, and approached. He knelt to the injured Cardassian’s right.

“May I?” he asked. Damar’s eyes flicked towards him. Uncertainty and rage clouded those fierce eyes. But he still relented. The grayed hand lifted away.

It was a vole bite. A rather nasty one, too. It was clear that the vole latched on and gave the man a violent shake or two. Scales ripped and peeled away from the open wound. Blood leaked in tiny streams along the man’s side and down his stomach. But he’d been like this for a couple hours. Most of the surface blood was dried and caked onto other scales.

First, he pulled the water bottle from his robe. Damar’s hand twitched.

“It’s just water,” Julian said as he pulled one shard of beige fabric from his kit, “I’m going to clean out the wound a little so I can get a better look.”

He poured as much water as he could bear parting with onto the cloth and began carefully wiping some of the dried blood away. It looked better now, at least. And it showed that the injury wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated. The scales the Cardassians had worked as a shell and protected their organs. The vole’s teeth penetrated that scaling, but never broke through any of the internal organs. A human wouldn’t have been so lucky.

Julian placed the watered, somewhat blood fabric aside and pulled out a clean piece from the kit, along with a small bottle of a red liquid.

“What is that?” Damar asked.

“An antiseptic,” Julian answered, “It’s made out of three different plants near my village. We’ve used it to clean out vole bites before. It helps prevent infection.”

“Have you used it on a Cardassian before?” Darak asked.

Julian glanced up at the man’s face again. The distrust was still there.

“No,” Julian answered, leaning back a little, “If you don’t want me to use it–”

“Just do what you would normally do with one of your human patients,” Garak said from behind him. Julian glanced over his shoulder then back towards Damar. Damar nodded.

Julian got back to work. He poured some of the antiseptic over the cloth and pressed it on the wound. It caused Damar to hiss, as many of his human patients did. Good. It was working. Once that was done, he set the slightly bloody cloth aside and pulled out a clotting agent. There were two in the box. The primary one was full, but he wasn’t sure it would work with Damar’s blood. If the components of the scales were any indication, the clotting agent would be completely useless. He used the secondary one instead. It wasn’t quite as good, but it worked in case of an emergency. But for Damar, it worked just as well as the primary would work on a human. Then, he bandaged the wound up and started to pack up his kit.

“It should hold, so long as you don’t make any sudden movements,” Julian said, “It would be good for someone more knowledgeable about Cardassian physiology to look at it as soon as possible, through. Since these medicines are designed for humans, there’s a chance their effects won’t last as long as they should.”

“Will he be able to walk?” Garak asked. Julian closed his kit.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Julian said as he packed the water bottle and medicinal kit away, “The movements might cause the wound to bleed again. A clotting agent can only do so much.”

“I have to say, Healer, I’m quite impressed,” Garak said. Julian stood and glanced at him. “It must have been rather tempting to take one of Damar’s precious scales.”

“It’s not mine to take,” Julian answered.

“That was the entire purpose of you coming out here, was it not?” Garak said.

“Oh, it was,” Julian answered, “But your race needs them more than ours. They protect you. We can find other things we the same medicinal qualities. It’ll just take time.”

“I’m not sure your kind will agree to that,” Damar answered.

“I’ll deal with that the best I can,” Julian said.

“That won’t be necessary,” Garak answered, “I’m willing to make a bargain with you, my dear Healer. Once a week, I would like you to take a journey to this very cave. I’ll meet you here. In exchange for one of my scales, I would like to see more of your medicinal work, even if that work includes the use of Cardassian scales. I believe this arrangement will be mutually beneficial.”

Julian glanced from Garak to Damar. Though there was some element of surprise lingering on Damar’s face, the Cardassian didn’t seem disagreeable. He looked back towards Garak.

“Deal.”

“Excellent,” Garak said. He peeled a scale from his neck and handed it over, “Don’t worry about me losing protection, Doctor. Our scales have quite the knack of growing back quickly. Now, I’m afraid this is where I must ask you to leave. While you have shown your medical capabilities, that hardly merits any sort of trust and I’d rather you didn’t know the direction in which Damar and I would leave to.”

“Of course,” Julian said, “But before I go.”

He pulled out his kit again, took out the clotting agent he used on Damar, and handed it to Garak.

“In trade,” Julian said.

Garak smiled and took the small bottle from his fingers. Julian placed the scale inside the kit, stowed it away, and wrapped his scarf securely around his face.

“Next week, Healer,” Garak said.

“I’ll be here.”

And with that, Julian ducked out of the cave and walked back towards his village, a smile and scale in hand.


	8. Barely Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Jadzia Dax (mentioned), Miles O'Brien (mentioned)
> 
> Established Garashir. Stuffed animal injuries. Crying Bashir.
> 
> Prompt: _Okay, but Julian being super upset and distant all day because Kukalaka has gotten super torn up for whatever reason and all he wants to do is try to fix the poor thing but instead he has to work. Then when he gets back to his quarters after his shift, Garak is sitting on the couch stitching up Julian’s bear with as much care as he uses on a Bajoran wedding dress._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152238753048/prompted-writing-barely-together)]

Julian yelled at Jadzia. Actually yelled. At Jadzia.

No one in the infirmary could believe it. On a normal day, Julian wouldn’t have believed it either. But he was stressed, the workload was frustrating, people were coming in with all sorts of stupid injuries because of some new sporting holosuite program Quark picked up that everyone just had to try, and then Jadzia walked in and started asking questions. Innocent questions; questions Julian would’ve been more than willing to answer on any other day, but that day he just couldn’t take it. He yelled, she left, the nurses hid, and Julian poured himself back into his work with a new air of guilt and self-loathing.

This really wasn’t a good day.

It all started the moment he woke up. After successfully getting four hours of sleep, Julian replicated a Raktajino, tripped on the carpet, and spilled the drink all over Kukalaka. A wash through the cleaning processor would usually be fine, but two minutes after he’d tossed his beloved bear in the machine, the gears rattled, cried, and convulsed with a force so strong that the appliance nearly shattered against the wall. He’d salvaged Kukalaka from the wreckage. Cuts and slashes marred the cotton flesh and stuffing oozed from each new wound. His left arm was nearly lost at the shoulder. Then his face – his poor, deformed face – was cut from ear to chin on the right side. Julian asked for the time. Five minutes before he had to report to his shift. There was no time to fix his companion. It’d have to wait. He placed the torn bear on his table and left, his heart an aching mess.

Once he got into work, Julian thought the day would only improve. It didn’t. It steadily got worse. The confrontation with Jadzia was the climax of his day, but that only came after he’d missed lunch with Garak and had a rather irritating bout with O’Brien on how long it would take to fix that damn cleaning processor. All other socializing was barred after that. Julian asked the nurses to lie to anyone that wanted to see him and he hid himself away in the rear infirmary office. He did paperwork the rest of the day.

Just as he was leaving, a nurse informed Julian that Garak had been by to see him a few hours before. He was the only visitor that wasn’t suffering from some ill-fated pain. Julian thanked the nurse and left. He had no intention on checking on what his Cardassian partner wanted. In fact, he intended to go back to his quarters and spend the rest of his night piecing together his shredded companion.

Julian walked to his quarters with steadily blurring vision. The day’s events were finally catching up to him. He hoped no one would appear and see his tearing eyes. That was the first spark of fortune he had. He was able to get to his quarters without encountering another person. He opened the door, stepped inside, and immediately saw he wasn’t so fortunate. His quarters weren’t empty.

Garak was sitting on his couch, steady hands slowly sewing together fabric with a gentleness Julian had never seen before. The Cardassian’s face was tightened, lips pressed, eyes narrowed. Tailoring tools littered Julian’s coffee table in some organized fashion, though what kind was unclear.

“Garak?” Julian asked.

“Ah, Doctor, I was wondering when you’d arrive,” Garak said, his eyes never lifting and his fingers never stopping, “Lieutenant Dax and Chief O’Brien were quite concerned about your behavior today. They both came to see me in my shop and the Chief insisted that I had somehow been responsible for your foul mood. I went by the infirmary to speak with you about the matter, but your nurses were quite adamant about not letting anyone see you. They did express a similar concern about your behavior, though, and I simply had to investigate the matter.”

Garak picked up a pair of scissors, snipped away a brown piece of thread, and placed the scissors aside again. Then, Garak lifted his head and the piece he’d been working on.

“How is he, Doctor?” Garak asked.

It was Kukalaka, though he hardly resembled the shambled bear that Julian was forced to leave in his quarters that morning. Julian walked forward with extended arms and plucked his friend from Garak’s hands. The seams were fixed, the wounds stitched shut, the face reformed. Extra stuffing had been placed inside to replace the bits that the processor had stolen away.

“You fixed him,” Julian whispered.

“I did,” Garak said, “I certainly couldn’t let you continue parading around the station in such an acrimonious mood, especially if the matter could be settled with a little stuffing and some string.”

Kukalaka became blurry. He hadn’t realized Garak’s appearance had brushed the first tears away. Now, though, they threatened not only to appear, but to dip down Julian’s cheeks. Large hands gripped his shoulders.

“My dear Doctor, whatever is the matter?” Garak asked.

“No one’s ever fixed him for me before,” Julian answered, his voice choked with tears, “The first time he was ripped, my mother threatened to throw him away. I didn’t want to lose him then. And after this morning, I thought–” A tear escaped. It traced his cheek and jaw before a cool thumb brushed it away.

“I certainly wouldn’t make a habit of letting harm befall your companion, but if he should ever need repairs again, I will always offer you my services,” Garak answered. Julian looked up at met the Cardassian’s gaze. There was warmth, sincerity, kindness; all things Garak wouldn’t dare show to anyone else. Julian smiled.

“Thank you.”

Garak smiled back.

“It’s my pleasure, my dear.”


	9. Say It With Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Some swearing.
> 
> Prompt: _Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says “How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?” and some tags_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152313233803/prompted-writing-say-it-with-flowers)]

There weren’t very many people that entered Garak’s shop feeling indignant. In fact, Garak was certain he’d never had an indignant customer in his entire life. Dismayed customers? Sure. Desperate ones? Absolutely. Love was a powerful motivator for those emotions and Garak really adored customers with such poor passion control. Emotions like that sold flowers, after all. But an indignant customer? Garak never expected one. Especially one that appeared with the scowling face of Doctor Julian Bashir.

“How do I passive-aggressively say ‘fuck you’ with flowers?” Doctor Bashir asked before Garak even had a chance to ask what was wrong. He could hardly believe it.

“I beg your pardon?”

The Doctor sighed.

“Commander Sisko’s asked me to host some ambassadors over the next three days. One of them has asked for exact room specifications, including a bouquet of flowers to be placed on every single table in the room.”

“A delightful touch,” Garak said with a growing smile.

“That was after they asked for the entire room to be rearranged and for a table to be placed in every corner of each room in a symmetrical fashion, with exception to the sitting room which also needs a fifth table in the exact center of the room for paperwork and dining purposes. That’s thirteen tables in all. Fortunately, they didn’t care what kinds of flowers they were, so long as every single bouquet matched.”

“How very peculiar,” Garak said, “To ask for such a specific room arrangement and then not care about the choice of flowers. Flowers are very telling, Doctor. They can be used to express a wide variety of--”

“Garak.” The name bit. So did Bashir’s eyes. Garak held up his hands.

“My apologies, Doctor.” He put his hands down and walked towards his large flower display. “Since you require so many of these bouquets in such short notice, I can only offer you three kinds of flowers. Though, I assure you they are quite beautiful together and I doubt your ambassador would question their meaning.”

Garak pulled the three flowers from different pre-made bouquets and showed them to the Doctor, who had followed him with the same irritated air still floating around him.

“Geraniums, yellow carnations, and orange lilies,” Garak said, “The perfect way to tell someone that they’re unintelligent, disappointing, and you hate them.”

“I take it you’ve made bouquets with these before,” the Doctor said.

“Oh, regularly,” Garak said, “Normally I would have one pre-made somewhere in here, but I’m afraid a not too bright young Bajoran man purchased my last one a few hours ago with the claim that it would make his dearest quite happy.”

The Doctor chuckled. What a delightful noise it was. And the smile that was paired with it only enhance it’s beauty.

“Thirteen of them, then?” Garak asked.

“Please,” the Doctor said, “If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t, I assure you,” Garak said, walking back to the counter with those three flowers tucked between his fingers, “When will you need them done by?”

“Tomorrow at ten-hundred hours.”

“Certainly achievable,” Garak said. He placed the flowers on his counter and turned to face the Doctor again, “May I also suggest a secret touch?”

“A secret touch?” Julian asked.

“I have a small vial of liquid phosgene that would really give those bouquets a delightful odor.”

“Phosgene.” It wasn’t a question, but Garak treated it as one anyway.

“That’s right.”

“Garak, phosgene is extremely damaging to the lungs when it’s inhaled.”

“A minor detail, Doctor.”

“The flowers will be fine.”

“If you insist.”

The Doctor smiled and turned to leave. Garak’s eyes started to turn back to the counter, but they stuttered along some of his more romantic flowers, all of which were placed in the center of the room. Purely a tactical move. In this case, a fortunate one. Garak pulled a single blue rose from one of the bouquets and snipped the stem in half.

“Doctor, before you leave.”

Doctor Bashir turned to face him. Garak approached and tucked the blue rose above the Doctor’s left ear.

“Ah, yes, quite charming,” he said. The Doctor’s fingers brushed against the petals.

“What is it?”

“A blue rose,” Garak said, “A somewhat rare beauty in my field of work.”

“And what disreputable meaning does it have?”

“My dear Doctor, why must you always assume these flowers have such terrible meanings? I assure you, a blue rose means nothing but beauty. And if you should question that, perhaps you should ask Chief O’Brien’s delightful wife. I’m quite certain she would be able to quell your doubts.”

The Doctor smiled.

“Thank you.”

Garak nodded slowly. And then his Doctor turned and walked away. He was certain the good Doctor wouldn’t ask was the blue rose meant. Perhaps that was good. After all, an unattainable love should remain unattainable.


	10. Filling Pages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Mila (mentioned)
> 
> Slight mentions of violence. Nothing intense, but just a fair warning.
> 
> Prompt: _A powerful magical creature disguises itself as a library. It eats people for knowledge which it writes on books. Through a manner of events, you have become the Librarian._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152352199783/prompted-writing-filling-pages)]

Julian got the job because he had a boring past. At least that’s what he told them. All the paperwork lined up and his parents, though distant and defiant that their actions were right, would keep any crucial information private. As far anyone knew, Julian Bashir was brilliant college drop-out with an affinity for medical textbooks and science fiction. He’d combine the two into a writing career, he was certain of that. He just needed a job to get by. Thus, the library.

He found it odd that the current librarian, an old woman named Mila, asked about the excitability of his past. He’d explained a few events -- fixing his stuffed bear, plenty of books, a desire to be a doctor because his father urged it -- but left out everything that might raise any eyebrows. She gave him the job with a firm handshake and a bright smile. He was relieved then.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

The library was massive. Outside it almost looked like an old, Gothic castle with spires that plunged into the arid Arizona sky. There were only three floors, though, hundreds of rows of books, a computer lab where only half of the computers work maybe a third of the time, and a rustic coffee shop that was closed by the time Julian entered the place for his shift at four in the afternoon. During the day, the place was almost romantic. But as the sun dipped and people eased out to the darkened landscape, the place became eerie. Spooky, even.

If Julian were a lesser man, he would have considered abandoning his post and fleeing into the cool night. The thought never crossed his mind, though. He had a job to do and until he closed up at midnight that’s exactly what he intended to do.

It was ten twelve, just after the last custodian left for the night, that he started hearing things. Little things, really. A scuff here, a pushed in chair there, pages flipping, books shifting. Julian perked up every time and once even investigated the source. He went to the security office and looked over every monitor the place had. Nothing. Not one thing out of place, at least as far as he knew. Ghosts, then? Maybe. The place was old. Julian wasn’t against ghosts frequenting the stacks at night. They were welcome to it, so long as they didn’t interrupt his work. In his experience, though, ghosts hardly did anything worse than move some things and mind their own business. If they weren’t a problem for the day staff, he doubted they’d be much of an issue for him.

Julian left the security office with a soft sigh and headed back towards the first story stacks. He’d been putting returns away on a shelf not far from the coffee shop. One which seemed empty when he first passed. Now, it still did. Even if it wasn’t, at least the ghosts had somewhere quiet to sit. He looked away and headed towards the stacks where he’d left the return cart.

“You may have been able to lie to her, my dear, but you certainly can’t lie to me.”

The voice as unexpected. Julian nearly squealed as he jerked his head towards the source. A figure was sitting at one of the tables in the coffee shop. A man. No, not quite a man. He had a man’s shape but his skin was just too... different. He looked draconic almost, with grayed scales and massive ridges that striped two lines down his forehead, circled around his eyes, and smoothed out some as they traced his jawline. His neck at them too, which seemed to follow the major arteries a human would have. And then those eyes -- blue and piercing -- never wavered from him. Not once. In all these years, Julian had never seen a creature like this before.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Julian said, his voice a mere whisper.

“Oh, but you do. And the fact that your first response wasn’t to scream and run out of my building is proof enough of that.” The creature leaned forward on the table with a growing smile. “Tell me, Mister Bashir, what piece of you provides you with that delightful aura of yours?”

Julian clamped his mouth shut. There were a number of rules Julian developed over the years. The first, and most important, was that you never talked to anyone about supernatural encounters. Ever. Even if they were supernatural themselves. There were wars between species going on and Julian certainly didn’t want to assist any of the sides. He was a bystander, nothing more.

The creature stood and advanced, his wide smile turning into something softer, though no more polite.

“Perhaps you don’t understand the gravity of your situation,” the creature said, closing the space to be within grabbing distance, “Regardless of your physical enhancements that I’m quite certain you’ve had, I can overpower you in this library. It isn’t just my building, it is a part of me, as is every book that enters and leaves. Some people may come and go as they will. In fact, there are many that enter this gallery of mine that don’t even know I exist. But some people don’t get to leave. In fact, those people stay right here in these library walls unless someone decides to take their story off these shelves and thumb through them on their own.”

“You kill them for their stories?” Julian asked.

“Oh, I do much more than that, my dear,” the creature answered, “Their books are special. Unlike the ones that come in from the outside, these books are made by them. Their works, their pages, their covers are all pieces of who they were before I devoured them and placed their tales in their proper places. You could join them, you know. Become a book. It’s almost immortality.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Then I suggest you begin answering my questions, Mister Bashir, before I decide to add another story to my selves.”

Julian swallowed.

“I was magically altered by nymphs when I was seven. I had severe learning disabilities and my parents thought the magic would help even things out.”

“Did it?”

Julian shook his head. “I became too advanced after that.”

“And gained a few too many powers,” the creature said, “Healing powers, perhaps?”

“It’s that obvious?” Julian asked.

“Only to me,” the creature answered, “It’s clear your quite intelligent and resourceful. You could have flown through medical school but instead you dropped out. That tells me that you were far too tempted to use your powers to help others. A noble gesture on your part, but perhaps too dangerous in this day and age. I’m to assume that you agree.”

Julian nodded and averted his eyes.

“Well, you may find them to be useful here,” the creature said. Julian looked up. A certain dark air seemed to drift away from it’s smile. “This place becomes quite the spot for supernatural activity after midnight. Having someone that could heal the wounded would be quite helpful to us. That’s assuming, of course, that you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t mind, but my shift--”

“I’ll talk with Mila about adjusting your hours when she comes in for her shift tonight.”

“She has a shift tonight?” Julian asked.

“Oh yes, she’s worked from one to nine every day for over forty years. She’s been looking for a replacement though. I’m afraid her age is making it difficult for her to keep up with the work.”

“She hadn’t mentioned that.”

“She tends to leave out a few minor details,” the creature said.

“Details like you.”

“Well you certainly can’t expect her to tell every new hire that the library is an entity within itself. She’d never be able to hire a reputable person again.”

Julian cracked a smile.

“So she just calls you ‘the library’ then?” Julian asked.

“Oh no, of course not. I go by Garak.”

“Just Garak?”

“Plain, simple Garak.”


	11. Tapping In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak
> 
> Scary things, possession.
> 
> Prompt: _Elim Garak, An odd tapping._ \- For a Tumblr prompt meme. Check [here](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152398262048/elim-garak-22-an-odd-tapping) for story and meme on Tumblr.

It started precisely at one twenty-nine hours.

Garak thought it was his neighbors at first. They were a sweet Bajoran couple that flashed bright smiles and engaged in small talk whenever Garak chanced upon them. Polite, kind individuals, certainly, but they could be somewhat troublesome at night. Anytime he settled down with a exceptional Cardassian novel, noises would slip across from their side of the wall and reveal their passions, their desires, their love, none of which were for good quality literature. He did his best to ignore it each time. The matter was usually settled in less than ten minutes; there was no reason to voice his grievance. So in those early hours, as a noise crept into his room, Garak rolled his eyes and intended to ignore it, along with the others that were bound to follow. Before he could ease back into his chosen Cardassian prose, though, he noticed the noise wasn’t coming from the wall that he shared with the regularly impassioned couple. In fact, it was a different sound entirely. The discrepancy made Garak put his PADD down and closed his eyes.

It was a tapping sound -- light and gentle, almost -- that seemed to permeate from outside his room, beyond his metal door. He might’ve mistaken it for knocking if it hadn’t been so delicate and unceasing. How odd.

Garak opened his eyes, stood, and took one step towards the door. Then he froze.

Something in him, something primal, something that only emerged in the darkest and smallest of places, swelled in his mind and whispered a warning so direct and unwavering that Garak nearly toppled back onto the couch.

“ _Don’t open the door_.”

How very strange. Strange enough for Garak to consider the suggestion quite seriously. He could ignore it. He could pass off the sound as a engineering problem. He could even “accidentally” bump into Chief Miles O’Brien in the morning and bring up the issue during casual conversation. It would certainly make the story believable. Well, believable to everyone else except him. Because he was certain that the sound was anything but an engineering problem.

The tapping didn’t stop. It didn’t grow. It didn’t shirk away. It stayed and played it’s simple, consistent rhythm.

“ _It wants in_.”

That primal, whispered voice again. Garak had never distrusted it before. He had no reason to. But now? It was just a tapping noise; a small, delicate noise, certainly, but they were just taps, nothing more. Garak’s rational thoughts assumed so, at least, and he planned to prove it.

Garak crossed the room. The primal urge attempted to thrust him back. He fought against it with every step. Once he reached the door, he pressed his hand against the controls without hesitation. The metal hissed. The slate opened.

No one was there. He peered out into the hall. It was just as vacant as the doorway. He waited. He listened.

The tapping was gone.

“ _Run_.”

Garak almost did. But his instinct had been wrong. No one was there. Not one soul. So, with one last glance, Garak leaned back into his quarters and close the door.

Suddenly, he felt closed in. Trapped. His right hand trembled against the door controls. The primal voice lost it’s words. It started to scream. He thought about calling Doctor Bashir, Constable Odo, Captain Sisko, someone, anyone! But it was too late -- far, far too late -- and he knew it.

He turned. Eyes were on him. White, colorless eyes void of anything but fury and anger and loathing. The white overtook his vision and thrust him down a long, graying tunnel. The primal screams became his own as he twisted into a pit of inescapable black. Walls pressed against him, held him, reshaped him as a form far different than his Cardassian body. He tried to fight it, but he had nothing to fight with.

He was an essence now. He had no body.

That thing stole it.


	12. Human Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Major Character Death, Blood, Injury, Angst
> 
> There's no prompt but I didn't want to put it in a post by itself because it's so short. So here, take this suffering.

_Humans are quite warm_ , Garak thinks as his fingers first grip Doctor Bashir’s shoulders. He can feel the man tense beneath his touch. A shame. He’s beautiful. Perhaps Garak’s gone too far. That thought’s only there for a second though. He can feel those wide, naive eyes on him the moment he walks away. Garak can’t hold back his smile.

_Humans are quite warm_ , Garak thinks as he sits next to the shell-shocked Doctor. The wire’s off, the transition’s done, and Doctor Bashir has helped him through some of the most unpleasant days of his life. Yet, somehow, after a bit of coaxing, the Doctor can still smile. Resilient, bold, impressive. A natural sun. Garak smiles in return.

_Humans are quite warm_ , Garak thinks as he glanced at the suit-clad Doctor out of the corner of his eyes. The world is drowned and yet the man has won. The glory is spread like a fire across the Doctor’s smile. The victory is their’s to share. Garak pulls on a smile of his own.

_Humans are quite warm_ , Garak thinks as Doctor Bashir’s blood slips through his trembling fingers. The Doctor whispers apologies that his Cardassian ears barely catch. Garak forgives. The Doctor smiles and then he exhales one last breath and extinguishes the golden warmth that danced within his eyes. With his dear Julian’s death, Garak is certain he’ll never smile again.


	13. Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, Gul Dukat
> 
> Guns, Blood, Character Death
> 
> Prompt: _“I only joined your organization so that I might have the pleasure of leaving it with a spectacular betrayal.”_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152445894418/prompted-writing-betrayal)]

“You know, I was really enjoying this game of ours, Mister Bashir,” Dukat said, “I haven’t had fun like this in quite some time.”

Footsteps. Garak peered around the corner. Dukat closed in behind the bound Agent Bashir and tucked a cloth gag into the man’s mouth. Deft fingers knotted the gag in place. Dukat’s hand then yanked the agent’s head back. The two made eye contact and a smile curled onto Dukat’s lips.

“Now you won’t be able to use that silver tongue of yours to get out of this one,” Dukat said.

Dukat turned and walked towards the large control console at the back of the room. Agent Bashir struggled then. His arms and legs pulled methodically against the metal strips that latched against his wrists, ankles, elbows, and knees. The closer Dukat walked to the controls, the more frantic Bashir’s movements became. Dukat cut behind the console and looked towards Julian’s back, towards the mouth of the laser that was ready to warm up. It would take two minutes for the laser to fire once Dukat started it. Garak wasn’t going to let it begin the heating process.

“It really is a shame that it has to end this way,” Dukat said.

Garak rounded the corner, his pistol pointed straight at Dukat.

“Yes, quite a shame indeed,” Garak said. Dukat’s eyes flicked towards him and his smile drifted away.

“Garak,” he hissed, “What are you doing?”

“I believe I’m putting an end to your rather poorly constructed plot.”

“So you’re betraying me for this little agent?”

Garak smiled. He almost let a laugh escape his throat.

“Oh no, certainly not. I only joined your organization so that I might have the pleasure of leaving it with a spectacular betrayal. Admittedly, this is not nearly as spectacular as I would have imagined, but I’ll certainly take what I can get.”

Garak didn’t give Dukat a chance to respond. He fired. The bullet ripped through Dukat’s shoulder, which caused him to yell and fall. Garak closed the space between them. He hovered over his fallen ex-boss. Angry eyes met his own.

“I’ll make sure you pay for this,” Dukat said.

“Someone will try, certainly,” Garak said, “But not you.”

He shot Dukat in the head. Blood poured onto the concrete floor. Soulless eyes glazed over instantly. Garak stared for a moment before he holstered his gun, knelt down, and fished the keys from Dukat’s pocket. Then he walked over to Agent Bashir’s chair and untied the gag.

“You have a rather terrible habit of getting yourself in trouble, my dear,” Garak said, moving his focus to the binding locks, “It does make me wonder how you’ve managed to live this long.”

“Words usually serve me better than they did today,” Bashir said.

“No wonder Dukat made that rather blunt comment about your silver tongue,” Garak said as Bashir’s right wrist was freed. He moved onto the elbow.

“What did you think he was talking about?” Bashir asked.

“Well, I certainly can’t be sure whom else you’ve shared your rather talented tongue with,” Garak said. He looked up. Their eyes met. A toying smile spread on the young agent’s face. Garak smiled in return before he closed the space between them. They kissed. It was gentle, warm, kind, just as they were behind these agent personas they carried. He pulled away before either of them could get too carried away.

“Now I’d like to get out of here, if you don’t mind,” Bashir said.

“I’ll see what I can manage, my dear,” Garak answered.


	14. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Odo
> 
> Cuddling for warmth. Established Garashir.
> 
> Prompt: _One day the heating system in Deep Space Nine shuts down for a few hours. Miles manages to trap some of the heat within the station so people don’t freeze to death, but it’s recommended that everyone stay in close proximity to others so there’s more heat in one place. Even though others can wear extra layers and stick to the promenade and be fine, Garak is forced to find heat through different means. He practically latches himself onto every humanoid mammal in the place until someone finally drags him to Julian and they cuddle in the infirmary while Julian works._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152473044958/prompted-writing-contact)]

Admittedly, the station did feel colder than normal.

Julian caught a few of his nurses shivering as they continued their work. It wasn’t severe; Bajorans were rather resilient when it came to the cold, much like humans. He did, though, let them get jackets from their quarters if they wanted. Less professional, yes, but perfectly understandable, given the heating system being down across the entire station. About half of them took him up of the offer. He didn’t blame them.

Luckily, despite the malfunctioning heating system, the infirmary was empty aside from the staff. A good, slow day. Julian stood at the main console and started thumbing through some research a team of botanists, including Keiko O’Brien, picked up on plants somewhere on Bajor. He was only searching for possible medicinal purposes. So far, there was nothing amazing to report. He was hoping that would change.

“Doctor,” a voice called from the door to the infirmary. So much for his research.

Julian turned and spotted Odo in the doorway, his arms crossed and a rather placid yet stern look stretched across his face. Next to him was Garak. The Cardassian had his own arms crossed.

“I believe this is yours,” Odo said. Julian stepped towards them.

“What did he do?” Julian asked.

“Why must everyone assume that I’ve done anything?” Garak asked. Julian narrowed his eyes and tilted his head towards the Cardassian. Garak rolled his eyes.

“He was seen on the promenade attempting to interject himself into every conversation he could and disrupting a lot of people in the process,” Odo explained. Julian’s brow tightened as he glanced from Odo to Garak.

“Oh, it was hardly the conversations I was interested in, Constable,” Garak said, “I assure you, there were no intelligent conversations worth entering. Not that I believe such actions are a crime.”

“A crime, no. A disturbance, yes, and there’s enough disturbances on this station without you becoming a social menace,” Odo replied.

“None of my actions were close to menacing in any form,” Garak said. He shuttered. Julian smiled and turned to Odo.

“Garak’s cold, Odo,” Julian said, “Cardassians don’t hold warmth like the rest of us do. Just leave him here. I’ll take care of it.”

Odo’s expression eased as much as it could and he nodded. Then he took his leave, disappearing onto the promenade and joining the growing sea of Bajorans that were told to stay in contact with others so as much warmth was maintained in one space as possible. Julian reached his hands out towards Garak.

“Come on, you can cuddle with me while I work,” Julian said. The Cardassian didn’t move. Julian frowned a little. “Everyone on this station knows we’re together, Garak.”

“People knowing that we share an intimate relationship is one thing. Displaying affection in such a form is an entirely different matter. It’s not only inappropriate, but it’s also the height of unprofessionalism and I refuse to partake in something that would damage your good name.”

“My staff is going to understand. Half of them are wearing coats.”

Garak looked passed him then and a small scowl appeared on his face.

“Rather unflattering ones too, might I add,” Garak answered. Julian rolled his eyes, took Garak’s wrists, and lead him to the work console. Garak’s eyes didn’t waver from the coat his eyes landed on. “What an unattractive shade of green. For beings on a planet that gets rather cold, you would think they would invest in more flattering winter wear.”

“Maybe someone should make more flattering options,” Julian said as they reached the console.

“My dear, you’re right,” Garak said, “In fact, I should get started on a line of coats immediately.”

The Cardassian tried to pull away but Julian tightened his grip on the man’s wrists. Garak almost seemed to pout at him. Julian managed to stifle a laugh under a very serious, very doctoral expression.

“No, you’re going to stay right here and cuddle with me so you stay warm,” Julian said. Garak opened his mouth to protest. “Doctor’s orders.”

Garak sighed.

“You really are insistent on appearing as the most unprofessional doctor on the entire station,” Garak said.

“And I achieve that everyday. Now.” Julian wrapped Garak’s arms around his waist and made the Cardassian’s fingers intertwine with themselves. He felt Garak shiver against him. “I want your arms to stay around me until the heating system comes back online. Once it does, how long you stay is your business.”

Garak’s scowl didn’t leave. Julian gave him a gentle kiss on the bridge of his nose before turning in Garak’s arms and facing the console. He began thumbing through the plant research but he was only half-attentive to the words. He was expecting Garak to protest, to make conversation, to be as uncompromising as possible. Instead, Garak’s fingers clenched tighter against his uniform top and the Cardassian’s face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Garak was freezing. Julian didn’t flinch away. He’d gladly take the cold.


	15. 0346 Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Odo, Julian Bashir
> 
> A character experiences physical pain.
> 
> Prompt: _“Every time I fall asleep, I wake up at exactly 3:46 AM. You’re spending the night and helping me find out why.”_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152531930938/prompted-writing-0346-hours)]

“I’m sorry I’ve bothered you with this.”

Doctor Bashir looked at embarrassed as he sounded. His soft voice was matched with a red that skittered under his tanned cheeks. Odo observed a similar, though muted, version of this expression during their conversation that morning. Bashir’s feelings hadn’t changed then. Odo certainly couldn’t fault him for that.

The Doctor could easily ask for help if it involved saving a patient’s life, but asking for someone to check what was waking him up at precisely 0346 hours was a completely different matter. Odo would find asking for such help unsettling too, but Doctor Bashir had been woken up at the same time every night for a week and a half. He had no medical explanation for it, Chief O’Brien had no engineering explanation for it, and Garak assured the Doctor, and later Odo himself, that there was nothing in the Doctor’s room, planted or otherwise, that would stir the Doctor to a woken state. Yet, the Doctor wasn’t getting the sleep he needed and each day brought with it more and more exhaustion. Even people unaware of the situation were beginning to voice their concerns. It was a mystery. One that Odo intended to get to the bottom of.

Odo was the one that suggested the night over. There was some resistance from Doctor Bashir at first but eventually he agreed. Yet, he was still apologetic for any inconveniences the situation brought. No doubt that feeling extended to O’Brien and Garak. And they, too, likely didn’t mind. After all, Doctor Bashir had helped them all a number of times in the past. This was a chance to return the favor.

“It’s fine, Doctor,” Odo assured him, “Even if this isn’t a security problem, I want to investigate the matter fully.”

Bashir nodded and averted his gaze.

“Well then, make yourself at home,” Bashir said, “I’m going to go to bed. You can have the sitting room to yourself. I’ll shut the door if you want privacy.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Odo answered, “I want the room to be set up like it has been every night since these disturbances started. Just go through your nightly routine and pretend I’m not here.”

“Of course.”

“Sleep well, Doctor,” Odo said. Julian looked at him and gave him a soft smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’ll certainly try.”

Doctor Bashir disappeared into the bedroom, no doubt going to start the routine Odo requested. Odo took the time to observe his surroundings and take in the placement of everything – the couch, the table, the PADDs, any lingering items, and, finally, a small stuffed bear – before easing into his liquid state and easing under the couch. Even in that form, Odo knew he couldn’t be observed. That was made clearer when he felt Julian’s footsteps pad against the door and stop just beyond the bedroom door.

“Odo?” he asked. Odo didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Julian sighed. “See you in the morning, then. Computer, dim lights.”

The computer sounded. Odo wasn’t aware if the lights dimmed or not. He was aware, though, of Julian walking back into the bedroom and the vibrations of his steps stopping after a few moments. Crawling into bed, then. Odo stayed under the couch and waited in his liquid state.

Four hours drifted by quick enough. Odo let himself wonder about past criminal reports, the day’s events, the state of Doctor Bashir’s floor, and other odds and ends that fluttered into his mind. No matter where his thoughts went, Odo constantly drifted back to the room, the moment, the possible cause for Bashir’s early morning alertness. It wasn’t until an odd sensation entered the room that Odo fully returned to the moment though.

It was a temperature change.

Odo was certain the room wasn’t this cold when he entered it. In fact, it seemed a good three degrees colder and the temperature was still falling. The cold drifted from the sitting room to Doctor Bashir’s bedroom in mass, as if a being was carrying it with them. Once it passed, Odo changed into a Rafalian mouse and skittered out silently from the cover of the couch.

The cold came from a white, foggy mass that drifted towards Doctor Bashir without a single shred of hesitation. Either it didn’t know Odo was there or it didn’t care. Regardless, it slipped onto the bed, eased over the covers, and formed a barrier between Julian Bashir and the outside world. For a moment, just one, everything else seemed fine. Then the young Doctor groaned. It was a deep, pain-filled thing that Odo got used to hearing in Terok Nor, but had faded when the Cardassian force left the station. His chest lifted from the bed, his body shuttered, he inhaled a sharp cutting breath, and a scream threatened to escape.

Odo changed into his humanoid form and moved towards the bed. The moment he tried to push through the doorway, the form dispersed and shot through the ceiling of the Doctor’s quarters. Bashir was unresponsive but still breathing. Odo pounded on his own comm badge.

“Odo to infirmary,” he said, “I have a medical emergency in Doctor Bashir’s quarters. Send someone immediately.”

“I’m on my way,” a young voice called. A Bajoran nurse, no doubt.

He stared at the Doctor. After all these years he still wasn’t sure what to do in situations like these. Medical emergencies were not his expertise and the one person he could ask was lying unconscious in his own bed. But he had to do something. Anything. He let his hands fall to the Doctor’s shoulders and neck. He was searching for… something. Whatever it was the Doctor looked for when he touched a patient’s neck. A pulse. Right. Where could he find one of those?

This wasn’t working. He needed to do something else.

The fog. He could track that down. He should wait for the nurse before leaving Bashir, but he would at least be able to start his search with the help of the computer.

“Computer, identify any sudden temperature changes in the habitat ring,” Odo said.

“There are no unusual temperature anomalies in the habitat ring,” it chimed after a second.

“What about on the entire station?”

“There are no unusual temperature anomalies on the station.”

Of course.

The Doctor stirred under his fingers. Odo focused on the young man’s face, which, although pale, blossomed with life once again. His eyes opened. Their gazes locked.

“Odo?” he asked. His voice was raspy, heavy. Odo nodded.

“That’s right. Do you know what happened?” Odo asked. Bashir shook his head. “You were attacked by an entity of some kind. Before I could identify what it was, it disappeared. I called the infirmary. Someone’s on their way to look at you.”

“What time is it?” Bashir asked.

“Computer, time,” Odo said.

“The time is 0346 hours.”


	16. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Gul Dukat, Elim Garak.
> 
> Attempted non-con with no clothes removal or harmful physical contact. Established Garashir.
> 
> Prompt: _“I’m not afraid of you.” “You really should be.”_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152584487413/prompted-writing-fear)]

Dukat was on the station. Julian knew that, but he went into the holosuite anyway.

Normally, that wouldn’t a problem. Dukat spent most of his time at Deep Space Nine harassing Sisko or Kira, much to their dismay and everyone else’s relief. Julian anticipated a similar situation, so much so that he actually booked his two hour retreat into the holosuite only hours after they heard Dukat would be on the station. Dukat’s visits came with stress and he knew he’d need a reliever. He intended to take it alone.

Julian entered his secret agent program wearing his usual tuxedo. The moment he asked for the program, he knew that tuxedo wouldn’t be taken off until he got to his quarters. These experiences weren’t about sex anymore. Not unless his boyfriend went into the program with him and that rarely happened. Garak wasn’t interested in the secret agent program. To be fair, Garak wasn’t interested in the holosuite unless Julian promised him something during or after their little excursion. With Dukat on the station, Julian doubted Garak would be interested in vanishing into the holosuite for any length of time, no matter what promises were made. No sex, then. That was fine with Julian.

It took a few moments for Julian to get settled into the program. His valet, Miss Jen Till, who had served well as Mona’s just as intelligent but less sexy replacement, greeted him with the same kind smile that she always did. She was friendly. He tried to be, but he couldn’t quite muster up a true smile. She didn’t care. She wasn’t programmed for that.

“Colonel Komananov sends her regards and asks if you’ll join her for an evening out,” Miss Till said as Julian walked steadily to the bar. He poured himself a martini.

“Tell her that I won’t be able to make it,” Julian said.

“She claims to know the whereabouts of Dr. Noah.”

Julian stopped. Hippocrates Noah. He’d forgotten this program was supposed to center around catching Noah and learning about Bolfield. Damn. Such a good arch and he wasn’t even in the mood for it. Maybe he could go back down to Quark and get a different program.

Or maybe this was exactly what he needed.

After taking a deep breath, Julian straightened his back and picked up his martini glass from the counter.

“Where does she want to meet?” Julian asked.

“Castillo’s at seven tonight,” she said.

“Tell her I’ll meet her there.” Julian said as he brought his drink to his lips.

“Well, you certainly changed your mind quickly.”

The familiar and completely unwelcome voice was so jarring Julian nearly dropped the martini glass onto the carpet. He wheeled around. Behind Jen Till, tucked under the large archway of his temporary loft, was Dukat. His smug smile and Cardassian attire were ever-present and a reminder that the station, though in Bajoran hands, was still Cardassian. Julian didn’t bother asking how the man got in. It didn’t matter. He just wanted the man out.

“Get out.” Julian said.

Dukat entered the room slowly with his smile in place.

“Is that really anyway to treat a guest?”

“You’re not a guest here. In fact, breaking into a holosuite–”

“Is quite illegal, yes, I’m aware,” Dukat said, “But according to your records, you let me in willingly.”

“What are you–”

“And,” Dukat said, edging closer, “You’ll find that none of your computer commands work.”

Julian’s heart rattled but he didn’t let it show on his face. He let his features melt into stern defiance as he set his martini glass on the table behind him. All the while, he made sure never to break eye contact with the man.

“Computer, end program,” Julian said.

The room stayed. The computer didn’t even respond. Dukat’s smile changed; the smug air that twisted into his lips curled into a darkened delight.

“Computer,” Dukat said, “Remove Miss Till.”

With a light beep, Julian’s valet and only safe companion disappeared from sight. He could see her vanish just out of the corner of his eye. He still didn’t break eye contact with the Cardassian. If anything, he was almost afraid to, now that there was only an arm’s length between them.

“What do you want?” Julian asked.

“To talk,” Dukat said, walking forward. He skimmed past Julian to the bar and started examining the bottles, his fingers brushing against the glass. “It must be hard for you to be in a relationship with a Cardassian, especially one like Garak.”

Julian’s heart lurched into his throat. He swallowed it down.

“How do you know about that?” Julian asked.

“Oh, I hear quite a bit about the occupants of this station. Most of what I hear is hardly worth a second thought, but Garak in a relationship? With you? That merits more than just a thought.”

Dukat looked at him. There was something in his eyes that urged Julian to step away, but he didn’t. He stayed firm and poised at Dukat’s side, his own eyes never straying from the Cardassian’s face.

“Garak is hardly qualified to show how affectionate Cardassians can really be,” Dukat said.

“You’re hardly a role model yourself.”

Dukat frowned a little and eased towards him. Julian’s left hip nearly made contact with Dukat’s.

“On the contrary. I can be quite affection, Doctor. You just haven’t had the chance to see that side of me. I am willing to show you, so you can learn how proper Cardassian courting is done.”

Julian tried to skirt away then, but Dukat’s arms snapped to either side of him and trapped him against the table. Julian thrust his hands back against the surface. It was the only thing that kept him from crashing into it. His abandon martini spilled onto the floor. He didn’t care. He couldn’t. Not when Dukat’s face was mere inches from his own.

“Get away from me,” Julian growled.

“But I’m providing you with such a delightful opportunity,” Dukat answered, his tone never changing, “The least you could do is consider the offer.”

“There’s nothing to consider.”

“Such loyalty,” Dukat said, “It’s admirable, but sorely misplaced. Garak hardly deserves it.”

"It’s a good thing you don’t get to decide what Garak deserves then.”

“Protective too,” Dukat said, a smile stretching onto his face. The Cardassian’s eyes flicked to Julian’s lips. Julian tilted his head back unconsciously. “Tell me, Doctor, does he offer you the same in return or is all this loyalty and protectiveness of yours one-sided?”

“I believe I can answer that for you.”

Julian had never been happier to hear Garak’s voice. That coupled with the fact that Dukat’s eyes flicked away and his body immediately retreated made the situation even better. He could have glowed. Instead, he eased to a standing position and glanced over to the archway where Garak stood with a Cardassian phase disruptor pistol in hand.

“Garak,” Dukat said, “Don’t you know it’s illegal to break into someone’s holosuite program?”

“Yes, I’m quite knowledgeable about that fact. Are you aware that it’s illegal to force yourself onto an individual who isn’t interested in your rather loathsome advances?” Garak said.

“We were just having a polite conversation,” Dukat said.

“I’m not sure the good Doctor sees it that way and I’m certain Captain Sisko would side with him on the matter. Would you like to discuss this with him? I’m quite sure he would move aside some rather bothersome meetings to enlighten you on proper Federation discourse.”

“I’m not afraid of you or your Captain, Garak,” Dukat said.

“Oh, you really should be.”

Dukat was silent for a moment. Then he lifted his head up. “Computer, reinstate Doctor Bashir’s computer access.”

A delightful beep rang through the room.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Dukat said, “Computer, exit.”

The exit appeared on the wall to Julian’s right. Dukat started towards it.

“Dukat,” Garak said. Julian’s eyes flicked towards him. That disruptor stayed frozen on Dukat’s body, as did Garak’s eyes. “It would be wise for you and I never to have this conversation again under any circumstances.”

Dukat lingered in the room for a second, his eyes never leaving the holosuite door. Then he stepped closer. The metal opened. Dukat disappeared around the corner. The door shut again and disappeared. The 1960s loft wall took it’s place. Julian sighed. His lungs seemed to thank him for it.

Then a body was nearly brushing his again. Julian’s eyes flicked over. It was Garak. The Cardassian’s hands were suddenly empty and pressed firmly on Julian’s upper arms. His eyes were not as stable. In fact, they scoured Julian’s body in search for wounds, no doubt.

“My dear, are you alright?” Garak asked. Julian reached his hands up and pressed them against Garak’s waist.

“I’m fine,” Julian said, “A little rattled but I’m not injured.”

Garak’s eyes flicked up to his. A fire burned in the Cardassian’s gaze that would have terrified another man. Julian knew, though, that the flames weren’t meant for him. He still sighed and tore his eyes away.

“I’m sorry, Garak. If I’d known he was going to try something, I would have–”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, my dear,” Garak answered, "I suspected that Dukat would attempt to speak with you about our relationship, though his methods are far more objectionable than I expected them to be. It is rather fortunate that you scheduled time in the holosuite instead of deciding to return to your quarters. It is quite easy to persuade Quark to spy on the holosuites, though the same cannot be said about Odo and living quarters.”

Julian looked at Garak again. Those blue eyes seemed to settle into something more loving. Julian’s fingers fiddled with the fabric of Garak’s shirt.

“I’m surprised you didn’t kill him,” Julian said.

“Oh, I considered it and if the opportunity were to come my way, I may just. However, it was unwise for me to kill Dukat at this moment.”

“Why?”

“Killing a Cardassian on a Bajoran-run station hardly seems like a good diplomatic move, regardless of the individuals involved. It certainly wouldn’t help the Federation, seeing as a Starfleet officer was present and would likely have done nothing to prevent the killing. More importantly, if I had murdered Dukat in your presence, it could have put your career in jeopardy and I’m afraid your career is more important than his death.”

Julian smiled.

“I have to say, Garak, I’m flattered.”

Garak leaned his head forward. His eyes flicked towards Julian’s lips. Julian licked them with just the tip of his tongue.

“Flattered enough to, perhaps, allow me to stay in your little program for the remainder of your session?” Garak asked.

“I will not only allow that,” Julian said, “But I will also show you my appreciation for your heroism.”

Garak hummed. Julian closed the space between their lips. The Cardassian’s lips were cold, sure, but just as affectionate as they had always been. Julian would have smiled if his lips weren’t so busy.


	17. Shelter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Odo, Quark (mentions of Nog, Rom, Moogie, and Brunt)
> 
> No warnings. Detective AU.
> 
> Prompt: _“The next time you’ll stand in front of my house at 3 AM because you need a place to hide don’t expect me to open the door.”_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152607213098/prompted-writing-shelter)]

It was 3AM – 3:12, to be precise – and his door chime wouldn’t stop ringing.

Odo was tempted to stay in bed. He had to be at the precinct in the morning and he needed the sleep. Desperately. But as the chime kept ringing without pause for another two minutes, Odo’s resolve dissipated. His anger, though, rose. He climbed out of bed with a grumble and stopped over to his front door. He practically pulled the thing off of it’s hinges jerking it open. His anger didn’t lessen with the reveal of the person on the other side.

Quark, Odo’s far too troublesome business district informant, looked at him with a mix of relief and frustration from his porch.

“Odo,” Quark said, “I need a place to stay.”

Odo observed the man for a moment. It was clear that Quark had come here in a hurry. The man was sweating and his normally pressed clothes were rumpled. But his desperation wasn’t for his life. There was no high-pitched squealing about death threats, acts of violence, or even theft, the latter of which really was the greatest crime of all in Quark’s eyes. The man wasn’t in danger. What a shame. Odo moved to close the door.

“Wait!”

Quark practically threw himself between the door and the door frame to keep the motion from happening. It took everything Odo had not to smash the wooden slab into the business man anyway.

“Come on, Odo. Let me stay.”

“No.”

“But we’ve been through so much together. Haven’t I ever told you that you’re my favorite detective?”

“I’m the only detective that talks to you.”

“That has nothing to do with it! Odo, please, just one night.”

Odo watched the business man with disdain. He wanted to say no. He did. But Quark was clearly desperate and Odo knew that he could possibly use this moment as leverage later. He sighed.

“Alright, but only one night,” he said and opened the door again. Quark smiled and scampered inside. Odo shut the door and sealed off the outside world. More importantly, he sealed himself in with Quark. He immediately regretted the choice.

Quark cut into the living room. Odo could feel is frown before he even step foot into the room himself.

“You don’t have much in the ways of furniture, you do?” Quark asked.

“It works fine for me,” Odo answered.

“Yeah, and no one else. Don’t you ever think of your company?”

“I don’t keep company here.”

“Pity. It might liven you up a little.”

“Is there a point to this stay or did you just want to critique my lack of furniture?” Odo asked. Quark peered out the window that lead out to the tiny backyard. It was empty, of course. Odo’s motion activated porch light didn’t come on to tell him any different.

“I’m avoiding someone,” Quark said.

“So you’re hiding.”

“I didn’t say that! Just.” Quark tilted his head to peer into the neighbor’s yard. There wouldn’t be any signs of life there either. Everyone on the block as asleep, except for the two of them. Then Quark looked towards him. “Look, it’ll be settled tomorrow morning.”

“Settled with whom?” Odo asked, crossing his arms. Quark seemed to fuss under his gaze.

“Brunt.”

“Brunt? Your debt collector?”

“He’s not a debt collector, he’s an accountant.”

“Drop the act, Quark, we both know that he’s a debt collector. What did you forget to pay this time?”

“Nothing! I always pay all debts on time!” That was true enough. Quark sighed and his shoulders drooped. “There was a run in with one of his goons and Nog. Things got a little out of hand and Rom, the idiot that he is, took a swing at one of the guys. They ran off to Moogie’s for protection and you know how the two of us don’t get along. But that’s not important. What’s important is that I’m going to see Brunt in the morning and everything’s going to be sorted out.”

Rather troublesome. Honestly, Odo would have rather had Quark here than at Moogie’s anyway. At least then if Brunt, or one of Brunt’s men, tries to do something there will be a credible witness at the scene and not just Quark screaming about violence and depravity alone. Odo sighed and turned to the hall.

“If Brunt or one of his men show up, wake me,” Odo said.

“Where are you going?” Quark asked.

“To bed. Some of us have to work in the morning.” Odo walked into the hall, stopped, and turned towards Quark. “Oh, and the next time you show up at my door at 3AM looking for a hiding place, don’t expect me to let you in.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Odo nodded and walked down the hall. He entered his bedroom and made sure to close the door behind him. Quark’s knocking and screaming would be loud enough to wake him if anything happened. He wasn’t good at much else.


	18. Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Miles O'Brien, Jadzia Dax, Kira Nerys, Benjamin Sisko, Kukalaka, and others are mentioned.
> 
> Some angst. Also, this is almost 4,000 words long.
> 
> Prompt: _Every day, something you care about is erased from existence, and only you remember._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152662447403/prompted-writing-remember)]

**_Day One_ **

“I can’t wait to see them,” Miles said from across the table. Julian heard the Chief say that at least fifteen times in the last two hours but it still made him smile, despite his rather irritating headache. That wasn’t from Miles, he was sure of it. He would have gone to the infirmary to speak with one of his nurses about it, but something about the pain seemed natural. And it would pass.

“Once you have kids, you’ll understand,” Miles said. Julian’s smile faded just a tad.

“Chief, we’ve talked about this,” Julian said, his smile not fading, “Garak and I aren’t really the ‘have a family’ type of couple.”

“I know you’ve said it, but family is the–”

“Most important thing.” They said it in unison. Julian let his smile droop just a little before he said, “I know. Cardassians believe the same thing. But Garak and I don’t want children. We’re fine with just the two of us.”

“See, I can understand that about Garak,” Miles said, “But I don’t get that from you. You’re amazing with children. I don’t understand why you don’t want any.”

“Oh, come on Chief, you met my parents. You can’t be that surprised.”

“I met your mother, sure, and she was nice enough. I know she put you through that while genetic engineering thing but you turned out alright.”

Julian blinked.

“My father was also here for that.”

“Was he?”

Julian frowned. His brow line dipped together. He leaned back in his chair as he observed Miles perplexed face from across the table. The Chief honestly looked like he didn’t know what he was talking about.

“You said he was there in the room talking to the hologram with my mother. That’s how you heard about my genetic engineering.”

“Your mother was the only one there.”

Julian watched him for a moment, the same sour look on his face. Then he cracked a smile, grabbed his drink, finished it off, and stood up.

“Very funny, Chief,” he said, “Have a good time with your family tomorrow.”

“Julian–”

Julian walked away from the table and waved, his back turned towards Miles. “Good night!” he called.

“Night,” he heard Miles say back. There was still confusion in his words. Julian couldn’t get himself to care.

**_Day Two_ **

Julian returned to his quarters after his shift feeling odd. Nothing during the day set the feeling off, he just felt like things were out of place. Yet, the infirmary was as he left it, so were his quarters, and no one on the station was acting strange. All the infirmary visits were the usual small things – a bruise, a scrape, a headache. Everything was as it should be. Yet, it wasn’t.

After lingering in the sitting room of his quarters, Julian passed the table and his dear Kukalaka before cutting into his bedroom. He needed sleep. That’s all. He just needed to sleep.

**_Day Three_ **

Kukalaka wasn’t on the table when he woke up.

Julian usually greeted him with a tired smile and conversed briefly over his coffee, but Kukalaka’s absence stunted that morning routine. He was so sure he’d passed the bear last night. Confident, even. He scoured his quarters for his prized companion but he didn’t turn up. His search made him five minutes late to work. No one in the infirmary seemed to mind, even though he gave them no reason for his tardiness.

It wasn’t until lunch that he brought it up with anyone, and his chosen confidant was Garak.

“I’m sure he was there when I went to bed last night.”

Garak looked at him with a rather puzzled expression; one that nearly mirrored the one Miles O’Brien gave him two days before. Julian frowned.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’m just curious as to how precious this stuffed companion is to you, since I have never laid eyes on it.”

Julian furrowed his brow.

“Garak, you’ve seen Kukalaka before. He’s about this tall.” Julian measured the distance with his hands. “Brown and beige. The first time you saw him you commented about how frayed he looked and insisted that I was being too sentimental.”

That perplexed expression didn’t stray from Garak’s face. However, it was paired with something Julian didn’t see often in the Cardassian’s features. Julian didn’t know what it was at first. It was just so foreign, so out of place.

“I’m afraid I don’t recall that conversation.”

Julian meticulously examined that face. It wasn’t a put-upon expression that showed Julian was being toyed with. No. Garak seemed genuinely confused. And that other face, the one that danced alongside that puzzlement in a rather strange waltz, mixed with the tone of his words and expressed fully want it was: concern. Confusion and concern. Julian almost couldn’t believe it. Garak didn’t know what he was talking about and must have believed Julian was losing his mind.

“Garak, I swear this happened. I remember you picking him up and looking at him with the same disdain that you had when you looked in my closet for the first time.”

Garak didn’t answer him. Julian sighed and looked down at his lunch. He hadn’t touched it yet.

“The next thing you’ll be telling me is that you don’t remember my father being on the station.”

“I beg your pardon?” Garak asked.

Julian looked up at Garak’s face. The Cardassian’s expression hadn’t changed. Maybe it was a put-upon thing. Maybe he and Miles were trying to screw with him together. Maybe–

No. Garak’s expression was far too real for that. Besides, with how distressed he was, Julian doubted Garak would continue a charade like this. He let his eyes fall back to his still full plate of steadily unappetizing food.

“Chief O’Brien and I had a conversation a few days ago about my parents. He insisted that my father wasn’t here on the station when my genetic engineering was revealed, that it was just my mother. But they were both here and they were both in that medical room when the Chief found out about me.”

Silence answered him. Julian peered up. Garak wasn’t looking at him, but that same puzzled expression was there. It may as well have been etched onto the man’s face at that point.

“Garak?” Julian asked.

“Tell me, my dear,” Garak said, “What exactly happened between your parents and Chief O’Brien?”

“We’ve talked about this before–”

“Enlighten me.”

Julian sighed and glanced away. This wasn’t a story he liked retelling, especially in public, but Garak wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.

“There was a doctor here that was trying to design a long-term medical hologram that would interact with patients on Starfleet vessels if the on-ship CMO was killed on a mission. I was chosen to be the template for the LMH. A basic hologram was completed, but my personality wasn’t downloaded into the program yet. So they just had a hologram that looked like me which people could interact with. My parents were brought onto the station against my wishes because the doctor felt it was important to ask them questions about my past. Chief O’Brien and the doctor had this hologram active as they were working around the corner on something else when my parents walked into the room. They believed the hologram was me and told it that they wouldn’t reveal my genetic engineering to anyone which, of course, the Chief and the doctor heard.”

“Why would your parents discuss such a matter so bluntly?” Garak asked.

“We argued about it the night before,” Julian answered, “I suppose they just wanted to reassure me that they were on my side.”

There was a quiet that settled between them. Julian flicked his eyes towards Garak again. The Cardassian looked confused still, but there was a calculated nature to his expression that unsettled Julian a little.

“My dear, I want to assure you that I believe everything you’ve told me,” Garak said, “But I’m afraid I don’t recall your parents ever being on this station. In fact, I’m quite certain this is the first time I’ve heard this rather interesting tale.”

Julian’s heart clenched.

“That’s not possible. We’ve definitely talked about this before.”

“Given the state of our relationship, I’m inclined to believe you,” Garak said, “And it certainly makes more sense than how I believed your genetic engineering was revealed.”

“What did you believe happened?” Julian asked.

“I was under the impression that you told Captain Sisko on your own accord,” Garak said, “A rather dangerous move that should have cost you your career.”

“Why didn’t it?” Julian asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, but I get the distinct impression that it had something to do with your parents.”

Julian brought his hands to his face and rubbed his closed eyes. None of this was making sense. How could his father, Kukalaka, and then his mother simply disappear from Garak’s knowledge? No, not just Garak. Miles too. He couldn’t remember Julian’s father. Were there others on the station that suffered from the same memory loss? More importantly, why could he remember when Miles and Garak couldn’t?

A cold hand touched his wrist. Julian lifted his hands away from his face. Garak’s blue eyes were on him and they reflected a gentleness that Julian had never seen before.

“I understand your frustration, my dear,” Garak said, “But I assure you we will figure out this mystery together. If there are any other changes, alert me immediately. I will investigate this matter to the best of my ability.”

Julian nodded. Garak’s thumb brushed against the inside of his palm before his entire hand pulled away.

“Now, you should eat. I believe some food would do you some good.”

Julian agreed.

**_Day Four_ **

Julian went by Garak’s shop in the morning to make sure he, and the clothing shop itself, were still there. They were. Julian kissed the man good morning, they exchanged their lack of information about the memory anomalies, and then Julian headed to ops. He took the turbolift. It managed to get to ops, but jerked to a halt just as the lights in the room could breach the small lift space. Julian sighed.

“The turbolift’s broken,” he called.

“I’ll add it to the list,” he heard Kira say. From the distance and tone, Julian could tell she was standing at the center of ops, unaware that he could only see a sliver of what the room contained and that there was no way for him to get out.

“You might want to move it to the top,” he said.

“There are other turbolifts, Doctor,” Kira answered.

“Yes, but those turbolifts don’t have the station’s chief medical officer stuck inside of them.”

Silence. Footsteps crossed over to him. Black boots appeared in his eyesight before a knee fell, then a head. Eyes connected with his. Jadzia’s eyes. She smiled.

“Good morning, Julian,” she said.

“Morning.”

There were more footsteps, no doubt ones that belonged to curious onlookers. Julian didn’t mind. He’d be trying to peek inside too if someone else was stuck in the turbolift.

“Kira to engineering.” Kira’s voice was closer now. An official onlooker instead of a curious one. Good. “I need a team to ops immediately. Doctor Bashir is stuck in the turbolift.”

“We’re on our way,” someone answered through the comm system.

“Do you want anything?” Jadzia asked.

“Tarkalean tea would be nice,” he said.

“I’m not sure we can fit the cup through this gap.”

“Then I suppose it’ll have to wait,” Julian answered. Jadzia’s smile warmed. So did Julian’s.

“Is there a problem?”

Captain Sisko’s voice. Julian tried to peer out of the crack to get a good look. Jadzia shifted fully onto her knees, giving him access. He could only make out the lower part of the Captain’s uniform, but he was there. Another good thing.

“Julian’s stuck in the turbolift,” Jadzia said.

“I’ve already called engineering,” Kira added, “They’re on their way.”

Captain Sisko sighed.

“Benjamin, I really think it’s time to consider calling Starfleet about this,” Jadzia said, “These malfunctions have been happening for two days. We should get a qualified engineer on this station before they start getting worse.”

Julian heart careened towards his stomach.

“Miles,” he whispered.

Jadzia’s face appeared again.

“What was that?” she asked. He blinked and offered her a smile.

“Oh, I was just–” He stopped. He was going to bring up Miles. The man was off the station, sure, but he’d be back once his week long vacation on Bajor was over. Unless Miles, like his parents and Kukalaka, was only remembered by him. He hoped that wasn’t the case. He swallowed despite the fact that his mouth was dry. “I was just thinking of Miles O’Brien.”

“Who?” she asked.

His stomach hurt. That tea suddenly didn’t sound all that appealing.

“An engineer I used to know,” he answered.

Engineering came in a few moments later. It only took them a couple minutes to raise the turbolift enough for Julian to crawl free. It felt like hours.

After thanking them and excusing himself, he took a less direct path to the promenade and cut into Garak’s shop. The Cardassian’s blue eyes looked up, no doubt expecting to see a customer. His jovial face shifted to a grim one, though, as Julian approached the counter.

“Miles O’Brien,” Julian said.

“I’m not familiar,” Garak answered.

“He’s the chief engineer on this station,” Julian said, “We were just talking about him yesterday, when you asked about how my genetic engineering was discovered. Do you remember?”

“I remember the conversation, but I’m afraid the name Miles O’Brien never came up.”

Julian sighed and bowed his head. His forehead made contact with his forearms on the counter. A hand touched his upper arm and the thumb brushed against his uniform in slow, smooth movements.

“No one in ops could remember him either,” Julian said. He’s sure his voice was muffled. It didn’t help that he was on the verge of tears. He sucked down a breath and lifted his head. “I just don’t understand why no one else can remember him or my parents but I can.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you yet, my dear,” Garak said, “But there is one. We’ll find it.”

Julian nodded.

**_Day Five_ **

Julian walked with Odo to a meeting involving the senior staff. When they arrived, Jadzia wasn’t there. Captain Sisko started the meeting without her. No one commented on her absence; not even Worf. After the meeting, he went straight to Garak. He’d never heard of Jadzia Dax. In fact, he was quite sure he’d never seen a trill on the station before.

They had no answers.

**_Day Six_ **

Kira never showed up in ops. Captain Sisko announced that the Bajoran government was sending a liaison to work with them on station matters that involved the Bajoran people. Julian realized that this person was going to take Kira’s spot. No one brought that up. He spoke to Garak. The Cardassian didn’t know anyone by that name.

There were still no answers.

**_Day Seven_ **

Leeta wasn’t in Quark’s for her scheduled shift. Quark didn’t complain about it and Rom was oblivious to the fact that he was even married. Garak didn’t know her either.

Still no answers.

**_Day Eight_ **

Odo didn’t show up to the senior staff meeting. Garak was certain there was never a known changling on the station.

No answers.

**_Day Nine_ **

Quark disappeared. Garak didn’t know the name.

Nothing.

**_Day Ten_ **

Captain Sisko was gone. Julian received word that a captain would be at the station in a few days. The Starfleet medical staff was elated with the news. After all, there had been no commanding officer on the station before.

Julian bolted from the infirmary, called Garak, and had Garak meet him at his quarters. He was a mess before Garak even opened the door.

“My dear, what–”

“Captain Sisko is gone.”

“Who?”

“Captain Sisko!” Julian was practically yelling. “Captain Benjamin Sisko! He’s worked here for years and yet my staff seems to think there’s never been a commanding officer from Starfleet on this station all this time. Why would they have any Starfleet officers on this station without a commanding officer?”

“They wouldn’t,” Garak answered.

“Exactly! Yet everyone seems to think that the absence of one is perfectly normal.”

“My dear, I’m sure this is just another thing to do with the anomaly that we’re attempting to deal with. I assure you that we can–”

“Garak, there won’t be a ‘we’ come tomorrow.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re the only one left, Garak. Whatever this thing is it’s taken away every single person that’s been important to me in my life right now. You are the only person on this station that’s left. You won’t _be_ here tomorrow. You’ll be gone like everyone else.”

He paused. His breath hitched. His vision became blurry. He looked at Garak – at his sole companion – with a shattering heart.

“I can’t lose you,” Julian said, his voice shaking, “I can’t. I… I–”

Garak closed the gap between them and strong arms wrapped around Julian’s trembling frame. He collapsed into them and finally let himself go. His fingers clutched against Garak’s clothes and he sobbed. Tears fell. He didn’t bother hiding them. He only rested his forehead on Garak’s shoulder.

Something brushed his tears away. It wasn’t Garak’s hand.

Julian jerked up and peered around the room, his brown eyes frantic for answers.

“Doctor?” Garak asked. Julian hiccuped. A few more tears slipped free. He paused.

“I swear, something just–”

He felt it again; a gentle, cold brush on his right cheek. This time, though, it lingered like a phantom.

“My dear,” Garak said. Julian looked over. The same calm expression was on his face, but there was something different about his voice. Something sorrowful. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but Lieutenant Dax believes talking with you will help you wake up.”

“Wake up?” Julian asked. “Garak, what–”

The phantom thumb brushed against his right cheekbone.

“We miss you, Doctor. _I_ miss you. I’m afraid I had not realized how much I would miss you until this moment. My dear Julian, how thoughtless I was.”

The Garak in front of him seemed to fade. His quarters too. Yet the voice was just as strong – no, stronger. It pulled him away from this room and into a blackness that seemed unfamiliar yet, somehow, normal. Yes, normal. That’s what he was supposed to be seeing.

“I should never have handed you my heart so openly,” Garak’s voice whispered. Something landed on his forehead. A warm liquid. “But now I have and all I want from you now is stability. You are, after all, the only warm thing I truly have on this station.” There was a pause. A broken chuckle. “I believe I now fully understand what Tain meant about me being a weakness he couldn’t afford.”

_Garak_. He sounded so fragile. Julian wanted to reach out and clutch his dear Cardassian’s face. He tried. His arms wouldn’t move. They felt heavy.

“It’s working,” a voice said. Jadzia. “Keep going.”

Silence. That thumb brushed against his cheek again. It wasn’t phantom-like anymore. It was real, tangible.

“The man responsible for this fate of yours is still in a station holding cell, my dear,” Garak said, “The station security has done well to keep me away from him but I assure you that won’t last if you’re unable to wake from this rather troublesome state of yours. I cannot say his death will befit his crime, but I assure you the matter will be handled. I realize that you would not want this man to die for his actions towards you, but he cannot be allowed to live if you don’t.”

“Mister Garak.” Captain Sisko. He was there too. And he could almost see the irritated face that matched the tone in his voice. He wanted to smile but he couldn’t will it. He did manage a forced breath. The action made him feel a little lighter.

“She said to talk with the dear Doctor, Captain, and that’s what I’m doing.”

“You can do that without threatening the life of our prisoner.”

Julian took in a deeper breath. His fingers twitched.

“Oh, I hardly think so. Julian may not be able to rise if he does not realize what is truly on the line. My feelings are one thing, but if he’s aware that someone’s life is on the line, it would likely stir him faster.”

Julian opened his eyes. Garak was hovering over him, but the Cardassian’s blue eyes weren’t watching his face. Still, Julian smiled.

“Your feelings would have done just fine, Garak,” he said. He was surprised at how gravelly and low his voice sounded. Not as surprised as Garak, who’s wide eyes flicked down to meet his gaze. A smile returned to Garak’s face.

“Ah, there you are,” Garak said, his jovial tone a delight to hear, “I was beginning to wonder who else I would have to threaten in order for you to wake up.”

Jadzia popped into view. A medical tricorder was in her hands. She offered him a smile, but her eyes were on the medical readouts.

“What happened?” Julian asked. His voice hadn’t improved.

“You were attacked in the infirmary by the Lethean who survived the shuttle crash on Bajor,” Captain Sisko said. Julian lifted his gaze. Sisko was standing above him. His face seemed neutral, but Julian knew Sisko was happy to see him awake. “He thought you were trying to kill him.”

“What gave him that impression?” Julian asked.

“We’re not sure,” Jadzia said. She pulled the tricorder away and finally made eye contact. “But the good news is that neither of you succeeded. I’ll let the nursing staff know you’re awake.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Julian.”

“Thank you.”

She disappeared into the main part of the infirmary.

“Take as many days off as you need, Doctor,” Sisko said.

“I will, Captain.”

Sisko flashed a smile and followed Jadzia’s path out the door. Julian’s eyes flicked to Garak. The Cardassian’s hand moved off his face, but he didn’t look like he had any intention of going anywhere.

“How long was I unconscious?” Julian asked.

“Ten hours,” Garak answered, “Though I imagine it felt much longer to you.”

“It did.”

“Tell me my dear, did I take the role of your villain this time?”

Julian cracked a smile.

“No. The scenario was different. People were just disappearing off the station with no explanation and no one else could remember them.”

“And their disappearances are what made you cry.”

“Not completely.” Julian paused. His smile faded. “Everyone had disappeared except you. I knew that you would be next, that you’d be gone, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

“After you’d lost so much, I can certainly see why.”

“If you disappeared first, I’m sure I would have felt the same way.”

Garak smiled. It was a soft, careful thing. Not disbelieving. Julian smiled in return. Garak’s hand ran gently through Julian’s hair.

“You really would have killed that Lethean, wouldn’t you have?” Julian asked.

“Of course,” Garak said. His voice was still light.

“Garak, you don’t have to kill because of me.”

“Ah, but if I don’t, how can I ever fully express how much you mean to me?”

“A kiss would suffice.”

“Just one?”

“One’s a good place to start.”

Garak’s smile warmed considerably before he leaned his head down. Julian closed his eyes as their lips connected. It was gentle, cold, nice; just as Julian remembered.


	19. Outfitted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: _I am just imagining a scenario where Julian wears something fashionable and Garak is like,'where did get that?' and Julian is all 'it was a gift!' and then he continues to show up to lunch in new outfits and they look really good and Garak gets jealous each time he sees him because someone is dressing Julian in nice things so Garak starts making nice things for Julian. But in the end it is revealed that Julian’s mom or something is the one sending him these clothes and Garak had no real reason to be jealous of this person._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152675168283/i-am-slowly-going-though-your-star-trek-tag-there)]

It started with a suit jacket. A nice, teal suit jacket that hugged Julian’s waist and flared at the bottom just enough to give the doctor a nice silhouette.

“Where did you ever get that?” Garak asked.

“It was a gift,” Julian said with a broad smile, “Do you like it?”

Oh, did Garak like it. He simultaneously wanted to devour the image of Julian in it and rip it off to get underneath the cloth at the same time. It wasn’t often that he felt that way. Usually, he wanted to toss Julian’s clothes out of disgust. The only exceptions were the clothes he made Julian himself – the agent suit, the piloting outfit, even that ridiculous viking costume. Now there was this jacket. This mysterious, teal jacket.

A jacket which was joined later by a pair of slacks and a white button-up, both as immaculately made. The fabric was nice, the stitches well done, the hems near perfection. It was infuriating. His doctor looked delightful and he hadn’t been responsible.

For a while, he thought the outfit was a fluke; a little joke that Julian had played on him. Maybe there was a sensible taste somewhere in that lanky frame after all. But then, after a week, that outfit was traded for another that was just as beautifully crafted. The blue button-up that was unbuttoned at the top was bad enough. Then the good doctor rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, dawned a beautifully crafted gray vest, and matched it with a pair of white pants that nearly danced on their own. Each piece seemed to seep life into the man like it’d never done before. Again, Garak wanted to soak up the image and strip Julian of his new wears.

“It was a gift,” Julian said. That same jovial tone was there. It was taunting him, just like the clothes were.

This continued for over a month. Sometimes the old outfits would resurface but then, out of nowhere, another would emerge that was as stunning as the previous ones. Each time, Garak fought between drinking up the image and ripping the clothes away. He tried to figure out who was making the clothes, but each search came up with nothing. Quark and Odo couldn’t even tell him anything about the matter. It was secret. That was infuriating enough. Then the doctor sat across from him at lunch or in his quarters beaming at him in an outfit Garak didn’t make and Garak thought he might just die of frustration. 

No. Garak could make Julian look better. In fact, he would. There was no reason why he shouldn’t. He was the best tailor on the station. Well, he was the only tailor on the station, but he was still the best. And Julian, his own boyfriend, couldn’t saunter around the station in someone else’s work and look more stunning than he had in anything Garak made. Absolutely not.

Garak got to work immediately.

Two weeks later, Garak thrust Julian into one of his changing rooms and handed him an outfit – a light brown blazer, a dark blue button up, and a pair of black slacks – and told him to change. Immediately. Julian was wearing his work uniform at the time, so Garak felt no remorse in asking the dear Doctor to strip. This was especially true when Julian emerged a few moments later in his tailored suit looking as handsome as ever. Garak nearly pounced on the man. Instead, he smiled.

“How is it?” he asked.

“I like it,” Julian answered, his jovial tone as pleasant as ever. He walked around and showed it off in his own little ways, dancing a sort of disjointed waltz.

“Good, it’s quite stunning,” Garak said.

“What’s the occasion?” Julian asked, looking over the outfit in a mirror again.

“I thought you could use something else that was flattering to your rather stunning body.”

Julian looked at him. There was a puzzlement flickering in his eyes. Then, something clicked. The doctor’s chin lifted and a small smile blossomed on his face.

“This is about the other outfits, isn’t it?” he asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“It is,” Julian said, “You don’t actually like them, do you?”

“On the contrary,” Garak said, “I believe they are crafted well and very suiting.”

“Then why…?”

Julian’s voice died off. Those brown eyes blinked. The brain wheeled, stopped, registered, and let loose a smile that could have killed Garak if his heart wasn’t ready for it.

“You’re jealous.”

“I assure you, my dear, that is most definitely not the case.”

“But is it! I can go back to wearing my old clothes if–”

“Oh, please don’t. I will reserve any disdain I may have about those new clothes of yours so long as you resist putting the old ones back on.”

“So you are jealous.”

Garak frowned. It only made Julian’s smile grew.

“My mother will be glad to hear it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Julian looked back at the mirror and fiddled with the jacket Garak crafted. The smile still illuminated his features.

“My mother made them. Since my father was sent away she’s been feeling lonely so we’ve been keeping in touch more. I said something about you not liking my clothes so she decided to make some for me. She asked me not to tell you, in case you didn’t like the clothes she makes. She’s not a tailor and she didn’t want to be judged by one.”

Julian’s mother. All this time it was Julian’s own mother. Now Garak felt rather silly. But, in a way, there was relief. He’d rather compete with Julian’s mother on flattering wear than any tailor in any other quadrant, especially when it came to Julian. And that also meant, no matter what Julian wore, he was surrounded in fabric made with love and care specially targeted for him. Garak smiled.

“Well, if you do tell her, also add that I’m certain you must have gotten your rather disreputable fashion sense from your father.”

Julian glared at him. There was still a smile lingering on the doctor’s face.

“I’m sure she’ll agree,” was all Julian said on the matter. That made Garak smile even more.


	20. Bait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Benjamin Sisko, Elim Garak
> 
> Blood. Swords. There's a dragon. Almost developing Garashir.
> 
> Prompt: _“I… am gonna use you… as bait.”_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152719691363/prompted-writing-bait)]

“Doctor. A word, please.”

That’s how it started. Well, no, that wasn’t _quite_  true. It started with a mysterious glow that no one on the station could explain. The baseball sized orb floated for a few hours on the promenade with no explanation until Garak stepped within eyesight of it. Without warning, it shot towards the Cardassian, slammed into his body, and hurled him onto the ground. The glow, or whatever it had been, resonated within Garak’s blue eyes like the Bajoran sun. For a few moments, Garak was unresponsive. Then, with the same speed as the orb had, Garak attacked several security officers and fled the promenade. Julian tried to help Garak, tried to get that thing out of the man’s system, but anytime he got close, the Cardassian would roar in an almost draconian way before disappearing again. It didn’t take long before injured and charred security officers started reporting in saying Garak was, truly, becoming one of those scaled, mythological beasts.

Julian hadn’t been on the research team. He was far too busy handling the injured in the infirmary. When Captain Sisko pulled him aside, he had hoped for an update on Garak’s well-being. What he got was a rather grim report of Garak traipsing around the habitat ring attacking anyone that came near him because he was possessed by an ancient, angered spirit that was stored in an stolen artifact that was brought to the station by the thieves. No doubt casualties were going to join the injured in the infirmary if it wasn’t stopped.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Julian asked.

“Actually, there is.”

Julian was hopeful then. But as Captain Sisko began to explain how they were going to get the entity the release Garak willingly, Julian’s hope faded. Every word sounded less and less appealing. It got to the point where Julian had to stop the Captain before he could finish.

“Captain, I’m not sure I’m the right person for this,” he’d said.

“Clearly you underestimate how Garak feels about you.”

That was it. Julian couldn’t argue anymore. Although he completely disagreed with how strong Garak’s feeling were, Julian knew that he truly was the closest to Garak out of everyone on the station. If it wouldn’t work with him, it wasn’t going to work with anyone.

And that was how Julian Bashir found himself wearing his best, regal looking dress uniform in a medieval set holosuite program with his wrists bound behind his back and a sword to his throat. They could have used a stand-in for his captor, who held his bound wrists and the sword, but it was decided that Captain Sisko needed to take the reigns instead. They couldn’t create a holosuite figure with enough improvisational skills to make the scene believable. Luckily, Captain Sisko was able to dress and act the part.

Once they were in place, Captain Sisko had a station-wide broadcast sent out, complete with video.

“Garak, I believe I have something you might want.”

The Captain continued a rather lengthy monologue, stating that if Garak didn’t arrive at the holosuite in the next ten minutes that he would kill Julian. Well, the term he used was “your dear prince”, but it served it’s purpose. Julian did his best to look scared. He hoped it worked, because he really just felt irritated and rather embarrassed. It wasn’t until the broadcast was ended that Julian spoke up.

“Captain, do you really think this will work?” Julian asked as he stared out the holosuite doors to Quark’s, which was completely abandoned at this point, despite Quark’s rather loud protests.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t,” Captain Sisko answered.

Julian believed that more than he believed anything else in the situation. So much so that he decided keeping his role up was far more important than keeping conversation. He stiffened his shoulders and arched his neck just enough to keep the blade off his skin. Captain Sisko followed the motion. Cold metal, again, made contact with his flesh.

“Give me superficial wounds if you think it’ll help,” Julian said.

“My intent isn’t to hurt you, Doctor,” Sisko replied. There was a hushed quality to his tone.

“Yes, but we have to make it look believable, don’t we?”

Captain Sisko didn’t respond. He didn’t have to.

It didn’t take long for a rumble to rattle the walls of Quark’s. It echoed into the holosuite. The program stayed active, even as the vibrations turned to thunderous tremors that would have possibly knocked real trees and castles down with it’s force. Garak appeared and stilled outside the doorway. All motion stopped.

Julian didn’t have to pretend to be scared anymore. Some point after he last saw Garak, the Cardassian had truly transformed into some type of dragon. Although he was far smaller than Julian imagined, Garak was still easily over seven feet tall standing. The width of the holosuite door would grant him access, so long as he ducked his now spiked head and back, but as he crouched and peered into the holosuite space with his elongated snout, Julian practically trembled. He leaned unconsciously back into Captain Sisko. The blade seemed to lead him there, but it was only because the Captain compensated for his movements.

Garak growled. A muted roar, perhaps, that was trapped behind his closed mouth. Those glowing eyes pierced through Julian and bore pure loathing directly into Captain Sisko. Julian felt Sisko’s hand tighten around the cords holding his hands in place.

“Come in, Garak,” Captain Sisko said. Garak didn’t move. Sisko’s thumb brushed against Julian’s arm before the blade bit into his neck. Julian gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. Blood eased from the wound. Julian could tell it wasn’t even close to killing him, but as he opened his eyes, he noticed some of Garak’s scales around his neck turned and spread, making him seem thicker than he actually was. Then that growl became louder, more open.

“I said come in,” Sisko answered. Garak eased inside then, each step heavy against the holosuite floor. Julian could feel the vibrations in his feet. Once his tail swept inside the room, Garak stopped.

“Good,” Captain Sisko said, “Now, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll return your prince to you with no other injuries if you release your power.”

Silence. Garak stared, glowing eyes flicking between the two. Then he stepped forward and growled. Smoke twisted from his nostrils once and the tendrils swirled towards the ceiling like fog. Julian swallowed and almost retreated back. Captain Sisko’s firm stance was the only thing that prevented him from doing so. The blade dug into his skin again. Julian let out a soft cry. Again, it wouldn’t kill him. Again, Garak stilled.

“This is your last chance,” Sisko said, “Release your power or I’ll kill him.”

A low rumble echoed from Garak’s chest. For a moment, Julian thought their bluff wouldn’t work. Then Garak lifted his head and roared – it rang like an explosion as a white mist soared out free from between Garak’s sharpened teeth. The roar turned to screams as the form shifted from draconian to humanoid. Garak’s old form returned in a heap as silence filled the holosuite. The fog drifted and disappeared through the ceiling.

“Sisko to security,” the Captain said as the blade was lifted from Julian’s throat, “It worked. The entity is moving through the ceiling of the holosuite.”

“We’re on it,” Odo called as Julian felt the cords fall with one swipe of the sword.

Julian rushed to Garak and knelt down next to him. The man was nude and unconscious. He shrugged off his jacket and covered Garak to the best of his ability, but it wasn’t enough. Sisko’s jacket joined it as Julian pried one of Garak’s eyes open. They looked normal. Unfocused, but normal.

“I’ll find him a blanket then we can get him to the infirmary,” Captain Sisko said. He disappeared through the holosuite door. Julian continued his examination. The Cardassian scales all looked normal. His bones, muscles, and features all seemed fine. As he brushed his fingers over Garak’s neck to check his pulse, he stirred and moaned. Julian pulled his hand away so Garak could get his bearings in his own way. It didn’t take long for those blue eyes to find his face.

“Doctor,” Garak said, a tired yet light tone to his words. “How odd. I was just under the distinct impression that your life was in danger.”

“It wasn’t, I promise,” Julian said with a growing smile.

“But your neck–” Garak’s fingers moved towards it. His fingers had a slight tremor to them.

“It’s superficial. It’ll take some time to explain. How do you feel?”

Garak’s hand dropped slowly.

“Tired and rather cold, I’m afraid.” Garak lifted his head to look at his rather haphazardly placed attire. “Well, that would certainly explain the temperature.”

Julian chuckled.

“Captain Sisko went to find you a blanket. Once he gets back, we’ll get you to the infirmary.”

“I must say, Doctor, I’m rather embarrassed that you’ve come across me this way,” Garak said.

“It couldn’t be helped. You were unconscious. I had to help you.”

“Ah, yes, truly a medical hero.”

Julian smiled warmly.

“No, I believe the hero is you.”


	21. A Good Scare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak
> 
> Mentions of _Hellraiser_. Some fluff. Also, dialogue of "come to daddy" mentioned, but it is not sexual in anyway. It's a direct relation to the film.
> 
> Prompt: _Okay, but Julian being super scared of 20th century horror movies and watching them with Garak, who is completely unimpressed but doesn’t say anything but the way Julian cuddles against him and makes those scared noises is cute. – Can they watch Hellraiser at some point? – Only if Garak starts saying, “Come to Daddy,” is a super creepy voice to Julian whenever the good doctor isn’t prepared for it. – julian screams every single time but he’s secretly Into It_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152737757488/prompted-writing-a-good-scare)]

Julian and Garak continued to agree to disagree on their tastes in literature, even after their relationship blossomed into something more romantic. Julian wasn’t against that. It was nice to still have those familiar conversations on a new battleground. But for once, just once, he would have liked to agree with Garak on something.

That’s when Julian suggested watching movies.

“I hardly see the point, my dear,” Garak said. He didn’t sound impressed either. Julian went through a rather lengthy explanation about the history of cinema on Earth and how some of these films were rather dark, especially in the last 20th and early 21st centuries. Admittedly, Julian hadn’t seen many of these films, but he was told by several officers that some of these things were quite extraordinary. He even got a few on data rods from an officer on the station who was more than delighted that someone else was interested in watching these so-called masterpieces. Julian wasn’t sure what, exactly, changed Garak’s mind, but Julian was glad he did. At the time.

They had to go to the holosuites for viewing. Quark, who had gotten used to these rather odd requests, asked if they wanted a public theater or home theater setting. Julian was confused, but Garak asked for whichever would grant them the most privacy. Home setting it was. Quark placed the two programs into the suite and let them inside. They’d be left alone for the duration of the film.

The home theater setting was nice enough – a large display screen, dimmed lights, two seats that could easily be made into a single couch. The couch was plush, comfortable. Garak frowned when he sat down. Julian anticipated that he would protest about humans and their rather ridiculous need for overly padded furniture, so he moved as close as possible and wrapped himself around Garak without a word. Any debate or frustration died before Garak could voice it.

The film started. _Hellraiser_ , it was called.

Julian didn’t need to explain the concept of Hell, thankfully. They’d read enough human literature and had a rather lengthy discussion on Dante Alighieri’s _Inferno_ , so the concept was familiar to Garak. The Cardassian did have to ask about the rather grotesque religious symbols that were piled inside the house and then discarded outside during the course of the film. Julian did his best, but religious studies weren’t his strong suit.

Throughout the rest of the film, Julian was the only one that made any kind of noise. The open sequence elicited the same noise, but it wasn’t until later in the film once people were being murdered and ripped apart that Julian really started voicing his displeasure. He let out little moans and squeaked at the sight of excessive blood and violence. At one point he nearly shrieked. His body edged closer to Garak’s and his fingers curled into the tailor’s shirt. Garak seemed to welcome it. In fact, at one rather gruesome scene, as Julian winced and nearly hid his face into Garak’s neck, Garak wrapped a protective arm around him and almost pulled Julian into his lap. He didn’t even let go when the final credits rolled and the lights eased to a brighter setting.

“What did you think?” Julian asked.

“I believe it was a rather enjoyable experience,” Garak said. Julian sighed. He really was hoping Garak wouldn’t say that. It wasn’t that _Hellraiser_  was bad, it was just far too bloody and far too excessive. When he opened his mouth to say so, Garak interrupted him. “Though the movie was not quite up to my taste.”

“Then how could you have found it enjoyable?” Julian asked.

“I said the experience was enjoyable, my dear. Not the film.”

Julian searched that warming face and smiled. They kissed. It was a sweet contrast to the rather unpleasant viewing Julian just went through. The kiss, however, was far too brief.

“How many of those films did your dear friend give you?” Garak asked.

“Five.”

“I suggest we watch them all during the next several weeks. I would hate for such a gift to go to waste.”

Julian smiled. He spent the rest of the night in his quarters naked with his just as bare Cardassian partner at his side. Neither of them had troubles sleeping.

Julian joined his rather excitable movie friend for lunch the next day where he confessed he and Garak’s shared distaste for the film. Although the man was disappointed, he did say that _Hellraiser_  was likely the goriest of the titles and they really should consider watching _Silence of the Lambs_  next. “I’m not sure you’ll like it,” the man confessed, “But Mr. Garak might. Hannibal Lector is just one of those characters.” Julian said he’d bring it up with Garak they next time they talked. They chatted idly about the film, about books, about life, and then excused themselves with a handshake and pleasant smile. With the end of their lunch conversation, Julian was sure _Hellraiser_  was completely behind him.

After his shift, Julian went to meet Garak at his shop. When the doors opened, the Cardassian was nowhere in sight. “Garak?” he asked. No answer. He must be in the back. Julian stepped farther in and took an idle look at the display dresses. There was one he hadn’t seen before – a blue and silver thing – which he eased towards with a smile. Pretty. Whoever was going to wear it was bound to look gorgeous. He half wondered if he should talk to Worf about it. He knew the Klingon didn’t care for such things, but Jadzia would certainly–

“ _Come to Daddy_.”

The hushed, whispered voice in his right ear made Julian screech and jerk around. Garak was there, a twisting smile on his face; one reminiscent of the character they’d seen on screen the night before.

“Garak!” Julian yelled. That dark expressed faded into a jovial one as Garak chuckled. It didn’t ease Julian’s scampering heart. “It’s not funny.”

“You’re quite right, my dear. I find it to be rather hilarious.”

Julian frowned. Garak’s hands settled onto Julian’s waist as the laughing drifted away. A calm smile still lingered on Garak’s face, though, and Julian wasn’t sure it made him feel any better.

“Oh, please don’t pout at me that way, Julian. You are rather adorable when you become frightened and I simply wanted to see your terrified reaction. You know I would never truly harm you.”

“I didn’t know it was you.” Julian’s voice sounded harsh to his own ears.

“My dear, who else would it be? You’re in my shop.”

He had a point. It wasn’t an excuse though. Garak sighed in resignation and wrapped his arms completely around Julian’s waist, which brought them closer. Julian rested his hands on Garak’s elbows.

“I apologize. I had not realized it would anger you. I’ll refrain from startling you in such a manner if you wish.”

“Since when have my feelings stopped you from doing what you want?” Julian asked. The anger had lifted from his tone.

“There are many occasions where I take your feelings into account when considering options, my dear. I simply don’t take the time to discuss those matters with you. It would be rather bothersome if I spoke with you regularly about matching work schedules and where to schedule overtime hours. I can’t imagine you would find any pleasure in that.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t,” Julian said. Garak kissed him gently on the nose. An affectionate gesture. Julian wasn’t used to that. He wondered briefly if this was how Garak would respond after every scare. Garak scanned his face.

“What is it, my dear?” Garak asked.

“I was just wondering what old spying techniques you used to sneak up on me like that,” Julian said. It wasn’t entirely true. It did produce a rather playful smile from his Cardassian companion though, and Julian was happy to see it.

“I’m afraid revealing such secrets would be impractical,” Garak said, “But I would be willing to provide you with more scenarios so you may attempt to observe my techniques.”

“You just want an excuse to scare me more,” Julian said.

“Perhaps, though I get the distinct impression that you wouldn’t mind.”

“So long as it doesn’t interfere with sleep or work,” Julian said.

“I would never be so cruel.”

That was a lie, but Julian knew Garak would stay within the boundaries he set. After all, neither of them would get kisses if he didn’t and that would be the greatest loss of all.


	22. Animals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Odo, Elim Garak, Benjamin Sisko, Kira Nerys
> 
> Gun warning, technically.
> 
> Prompt: _Note to dog sitter: Thank you so much for watching my dog, Bruce. He’s really is a great dog. Breakfast at 730a. Dinner at 630p. Into his crate at 9p sharp! Stick to these strict times and all will be well. No matter what he says or does, he is not to be trusted. I’ll be home in a week._ \+ _The character (A) takes in a stray dog. After a couple of days, the dog grabs an important possession of the character’s in its mouth and takes off with A in pursuit. A ends up in a curious place, surrounded by roaming cats, dogs, birds, squirrels, rabbits, and other small critters. Suddenly, the animals begin to shift to human form. They block all exits._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152828947348/prompted-writing-animals)]

Julian was desperate for money. That was the only reason he considered the dog sitting position.

He’d found the advertisement for the job online, intermingled with other dog and cat sitting jobs. It paid around the same, but the dog owner, Mr. Krajensky, offered more pictures of his rather modest home and stated that it was best for the sitter to stay at the house for the week. It seemed a little too good to be true, but Julian reached out anyway. He needed the money and a place to stay for a few days wouldn’t hurt either.

Over the phone, Mr. Krajensky seemed like a polite, kind man. They hit it off immediately. Julian offered to meet Krajensky in person, but the man said that it wasn’t necessary. He could tell Julian could be trusted. Although Julian himself wouldn’t trust a stranger with his pet and house alone, he did find the trust comforting. Maybe it was a cultural thing. He was in a different country, after all. It could also be a personal thing. Maybe Mr. Krajensky offered this position before and had experience picking out the good from the bad. Whatever the case, Julian was given the position and told to be at the house the next morning. The door would be unlocked.

Julian arrived as requested. Mr. Krajensky was gone. The note left on the end table next to the front door stated that he’d left only an hour prior for his flight and provided Julian with times for meals, a walking schedule, when Krajensky would be returning, where Julian could sleep, that all the food was free for him to eat, and then a rather odd warning:

_No matter what Bruce says or does, he is not to be trusted_.

How strange. Maybe it was a joke. Krajensky could have an unusual sense of humor. He was trusting a stranger in his house for a week, so there was bound to be some quirks lingering there. Julian let it go with a smile, placed the note back on the table, and then began to search the house.

It was a one story place. All the furniture in the house indicated that Krajensky lived alone. The living room had one rather small couch and a television, the kitchen only had one dining chair with a tiny table and one set of dishes, and the master bedroom only had a twin sized bed. Any indications of personal relationships lingered in still photographs that were framed and laid out across the living room wall. Most were black and white, no doubt faces from Krajensky’s history. Others, though, were more recent and showed an aging man with a bright face standing with friends and family. Most were taken at a lake, it appeared, with mountains and clear blue water in the background. Julian wondered if that’s where Krajensky went for the week.

He found Bruce and his kennel in the guest bedroom. The golden retriever didn’t wag his tail when Julian entered, but those brown eyes met his and the dog did cock his head. Julian let him out immediately.

Throughout the day, Bruce was the greatest dog. Quiet, kind. He wasn’t too emotional but he was expressive enough for Julian to know what he wanted. Food, outside, walks. Bruce really was transparent. Otherwise, the dog made himself comfortable around the house. Though, as the day went on, Julian found the dog at his feet, his chin resting on the top of Julian’s Converse covered toes.

Around 8:30 PM, Julian grabbed the harness and leash and put them on Bruce, who hardly protested. They went out.

The sun had dipped under the urban landscape a little under an hour ago. The night stars and half-concealed moon would have been adequate light, though, even if the streetlights had been off. Each source illuminated the empty streets and showed the vacancy with such clear precision that Julian had no reason to feel unsafe. Still, he let Bruce lead the walk and kept his eyes open. He wasn’t too familiar with the area and there was no telling who was around, or why.

Bruce took him through the same park they’d cross through twice that day already. The walking paths were just as empty as the streets had been. Yet, the canvassing tree limbs and lack of street lights cave the path a darker air. There were no other footsteps, no other people, not even breathing, and yet, somehow, Julian felt uneasy. It was like he was being watched. No, not like; he was certain he was being watched. Julian’s eyes flicked from tree to tree as he searched for the source. There was nothing. They were alone. Paranoia, he thought. He was in a rather dark, unfamiliar area. It was paranoia. That’s all.

Then the leash jerked from his hand. Julian’s eyes jerked to Bruce, who ran off the path and into a nearby field. Julian chased after him.

“Bruce, come back!” he called. The dog didn’t stop. Julian hoped his long legs would be enough to keep up. For a moment, it didn’t look like they would be. In his frenzy to get to Bruce, he hadn’t noticed the movements around him, the animals screaming, the shadows dancing, until the unraveled themselves in front of Bruce and stopped the dog in his tracks. Humanoid figures took form between trees and branches, their feet level.

Julian went to grab Bruce’s leash and run, but something grabbed his arms and pulled him back. He yelped and jerked against the grasp. If he was fighting against human hands, Julian thought he might have escaped. The vice grips, however, was provided by something that wasn’t human. They were too cold, too solid to be a human hand.

“Odo,” one of the humanoid forms said in front of him. It stepped out of the shadow of the trees and towards the dog, which stood firm. Moonlight skittered across it’s face. It liked almost like a healed burn victim and yet there was a far too smooth quality about it’s skin. The nose and brows weren’t defined, the lips were too thin, the skin was void of any wrinkles. “Did you really think this would work a second time?”

The dog didn’t move. The figure sighed.

“We’ll just have to make an example out of you.”

One of it’s arms morphed. Under the moonlight, the now almost wriggling shape looked gelatinous, almost liquid. It surged towards the dog. It never made it. A shot fired across the night air and slammed into the figure with a force strong enough to send it soaring to the left. Julian peered towards the source. He never saw what was responsible. More shots were fired. The figures hold him collapsed, along with others around him. Julian almost careened to the ground, but his upper arm was grabbed. He was pulled back. His back slammed into a tree. He tried to pull away in a panicked frenzy, but the hand moved to the center of his chest and pushed him harder against the bark.

“It would be in your best interest to not move, Mr. Bashir.”

Julian froze. His eyes finally registered the form holding him in place. It was a man. Well, not quite. There was something rather reptilian in his features. Scaled ridges cascaded across his brown line, around his eyes, and down his nose. Another set protruded from his neck along where the major arteries in the human neck would be. After a moment, Julian’s eyes caught the things blue ones.

“What–”

“I’m afraid we don’t have time for questions,” it said.

More shots were fired around them. The creature pushed him as firm to the tree as possible and pointed the gun away, towards the opening where Julian had been. He fired. Julian squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. Silence followed. An eerie, troublesome silence.

“Is everyone alright?” a new voice asked. A female one.

The hand on Julian’s chest eased. He opened his eyes. The creature was looking him over. Their eyes connected. It dipped it’s head and lifted an eyebrow. What was he…? Oh. The question. Was he alright. Well, he wasn’t hurt but any reasonable medical professional would likely think he was hallucinating after the events he just experienced. Despite that, Julian nodded.

“Quite alright, Major,” the creature said.

“Where’s Mr. Bashir?” a deep, male voice asked. Julian tensed immediately. A reassuring hand landed on his shoulder. A tiny smile cross the thing’s face. It wasn’t menacing. At least, Julian hoped not.

“He’s with me, Captain,” the thing said.

Footsteps. Panic swelled in him again. Julian jerked away. The thing let him. He only took a few steps away from the tree though before he stopped. He didn’t freeze. He just stared.

Along with the reptilian man, there were three others. One mirrored the figure’s face before – the featureless, smooth appearance – but it was clear the being was someone else. A human was next to him, with dark skin and a placid frown. Then the last, the female, was a shorter thing woman with odd nose ridges that Julian had no words for. A birth mark? A defect? A chosen alteration? It didn’t matter.

“Mr. Bashir,” the human said as he stepped closer, “My name is Benjamin Sisko. This is Elim Garak, Kira Nerys, and Odo.” He motioned to the reptilian, the woman, and the smooth-faced man respectively. “I need you to come with us. You’ll be in danger alone and we can protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” Julian asked.

“The changelings,” Benjamin said, “Though you’re more likely to know them as doppelgangers.”


	23. For The Occasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak
> 
> No warnings. Established Garashir. References to [this outfit](http://68.media.tumblr.com/13ce59ef3f6e07ef4bd48f4f50970924/tumblr_ndjkvwojpr1qddfrco1_1280.jpg).
> 
> Prompt: _Julian Bashir/Elim Garak, 15. “I don’t know why you don’t like this outfit on you. You look splendid.”_ \-- for a Tumblr ask box meme [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152847984118/julian-bashirelim-garak-15-i-dont-know-why)]

“Garak, it’s a dress.”

“It’s a tunic, my dear. Even if it was a dress, your society relinquished the rather archaic idea that dresses are solely for females centuries ago. Besides, the outfit that you asked me to design for you and Chief O’Brien’s Scottish adventure included a skirt and showed far more leg than this.”

“That was a kilt, which is a traditional Scottish garment.”

“And how many people aboard this station knew of that as you were traipsing around in it?”

Julian sighed. His eyes hadn’t left the mirror in the dressing room from the moment he put this rather elaborate outfit on. It wasn’t bad, per say. The off-whites and golds and muted browns married well with his tan skin. Plus, the sash cinched his waste in and gave him a slender shape. Such a thing mind have made him look smaller if the outer coat had a thinner opening. Instead, it broadened near his shoulders and gave him a far sterner appearance than his Starfleet uniform would ever allow. It looked nice enough. It was just–

“My dear, you look splendid,” Garak said. Julian looked passed the open curtain towards the tailor. The Cardassian was beaming. Well, as much as Garak could beam, anyway.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit… much?”

“Not at all,” Garak said. His smile began to fade. “Though, I suspect that your concerns about this rather illustrious outfit exceed what you’re telling me.”

Julian looked towards the mirror again and started straightening and flattening the upper tunic. It wasn’t necessary. It was already in perfect alignment and there wasn’t a single crease in the fabric.

“I don’t know, it’s just not… me.”

“I suppose it isn’t,” Garak answered. There was disappointment lingering in his words. He could practically see the Cardassian deflating out of the corner of his eye. Julian peered over. His heart steadily sank. Garak wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was attempting to look preoccupied. He paced towards a mannequin and started fiddling with the fabric. It rather looked like he was fluffing it. Julian sighed and stepped out from the dressing room.

“Garak, it’s a fine outfit, really,” Julian said.

Garak didn’t answer him. Rather, he pretended like he couldn’t hear him. Julian frowned.

“You don’t normally act like this when I reject something you’ve made.” Julian almost whispered it.

“Perhaps that’s because you ask for many of the outfits I crafted for you,” Garak answered. A bitter tang wafted through his words. “I have only created one thing for you of my own accord prior to this and you weren’t fond of it either.”

“That doesn’t mean your work is–”

“This isn’t about my _work_ , my dear,” Garak said. He turned then. Anger sparked those blue eyes and almost turned them gray. Julian froze. “A tunic of this nature is meant for a specific Cardassian ceremony. A rather important one, might I add, though I suppose you’ll tell me that any Cardassian ceremony isn’t for you either.”

“Garak–”

“Tell me, what is it that you wish to wear to an enjoinment? I’ll be sure to create something more suiting to your stale, uninspiring tastes.”

Enjoinment?

Wait.

Julian’s eyes widened, his jaw slackened. Garak’s challenging eyes flicked away. Julian looked down at the tunic again. The golds, the whites, the browns. Ceremony. The layers, the sash, the floor length. Enjoinment. The stitching, the hemming, the care.

_Marriage_.

Julian glanced up at Garak again. He could see the tension building in the Cardassian’s body with the passing of each silent moment. He crossed the room, placed his hands on either side of Garak’s face, and planted his lips onto the other man’s. He felt Garak tense under his touch. Another second didn’t alleviate that tension. Julian pulled back. A puzzled look stared back at him.

“Garak, you should have told me this is what you wanted,” Julian whispered.

Garak’s gaze eased and then fell to stare, perhaps, at the sash still snug around Julian’s waist.

“I couldn’t,” he said. His voice was almost a whisper. “Even if you had found the outfit appealing, I wasn’t sure I could. I had not expected to have a partner, my dear.” Garak’s fingers eased to the sash. “My work didn’t allow for such things and I had believed that I could turn away from such desires. I had for quite some time.” His fingers brushed against the fabric. “But you were beautiful and charming and far, far too kind. I had hoped my feelings towards you would pass but they never had. And now that I have you, I fear that I cannot afford to lose you. I had expected that if I told you what I desired, you would have left, as you left your dancer.”

Silence. Julian left his hands shift over Garak’s neck.

“Garak, look at me.”

Those blue eyes flicked towards him.

“She isn’t my dancer because I let her go. She’s better off. So am I. I have you now. Had I known the intent for this outfit, I wouldn’t have protested. Cardassia is a part of me when I’m with you, Garak. I’ll proudly and happily wear this, my dear tailor.”

For a moment, Julian thought Garak was going to cry. Instead, that delighted glow return to his face and rather chilled lips met his. Julian smiled into it.


	24. Dancing To A Different Tune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Jadzia Dax
> 
> Near NSFW territory because of sexiness and sexual implications.
> 
> Prompt: _please, heavy Garak/Bashir innocently beginning with n.34("c'mon, let's dance") and UNEXPECTEDLY end up with n.20 ("Put some clothes on already, jeez! We have company coming!")! ^_^_ \-- for a tumblr ask box meme [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152852969988/for-otp-quotes-challenge-please-heavy)]

“I thought we might try something a little different than our usual conversations this evening.”

Julian frowned from his spot on the couch. Different could be good. Sometimes different could be very interesting, even pleasurable. With Garak, though, different didn’t always _mean_  good. In some cases, different meant bad. Very bad. Dangerously bad. So when Garak suggested different, rose from the couch, and faced him, Julian wasn’t sure what he should expect. He couldn’t even read the possibilities off Garak’s closed smile and sparkling eyes.

“Computer,” Garak said, his eyes never leaving Julian’s, “Play some recent instrumental music from Cardassia, please. Something slow and romantic.”

It started. Julian wasn’t sure what the song was. Garak knew, but he didn’t look like he was in the mood to answer. Not when his hands were lifting towards him and offered so gently, so politely.

“Come, my dear. Let’s dance.”

Maybe different wasn’t so bad tonight. Julian smiled, took Garak’s hands, and let the Cardassian lead him to the bare section of his own quarters. Julian’s left fingers laced with Garak’s right. Then, as Garak’s left arm slipped around Julian’s waist, Julian his his right hand snake around the back of Garak’s neck.

They started spaced apart, with air easily breezing between them, but as they swayed slowly and easily with the strums and swishes of the Cardassian songs, Julian found it difficult to stay away. That space closed, their bodies touched, and their eyes never glanced away. Not until Garak’s head ducked to the left of Julian’s face and teeth started to nibble on his earlobe. His right arm wrapped tighter around the back of Garak’s neck as he titled his head to the right, unconsciously pulling the man closer and providing him with more space. Kisses moved from Julian’s ear to his jawline. They were light, simple things that mirrored the moment.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Julian asked while somehow suppressing the moan that wanted to slip free.

“Of course, my dear,” Garak said, his voice a low murmur, “But I believe I would be enjoying this more if I wasn’t forced to look at such disagreeable clothes,” Garak said. Julian shivered and hummed.

“I could take them off,” Julian said. His fingers rolled against Garak’s cowl. He could feel the scales beginning the unfurl. “But I want to try something different too.”

It was Garak’s turn to hum. He was interested.

“You always take my clothes off first,” Julian said, “I want to see you naked before me this time.”

“I believe that can be managed,” Garak said.

Their dance was over then. The music didn’t stop, however. Not even when they crossed the threshold from the sitting room to the bedroom. Julian was nearly tossed onto the hard mattress. Had he been unprepared, he was certain the contact would have hurt. But they’d danced this little number before. He was familiar. At least until Garak crawled on top of him, knelt over his hips, and then sat up.

Deft Cardassian fingers worked to unfasten the little hooks and buttons Julian hadn’t even noticed on Garak’s shirt. Slowly, Garak unwrapped himself, his large chest becoming more and more visible with each unveiling flap. All the while, his blue eyes never left Julian’s face. Not for one second. Julian swallowed and stirred. His groin rubbed against Garak’s unintentionally. He bit his bottom lip to hold back the whimper that wanted to escape. Finally, the top was stripped away, leaving nothing but gray Cardassian scales. Julian reached up and let his warm fingers slip across the unveiled skin. Garak shivered.

“ _Julian_.”

He’d heard that voice before – that gruff, warning tone. He knew what was coming. The strip tease was over. He brushed his fingers towards Garak’s neck and pulled the Cardassian towards him. Their lips met and their tongues started a dance of their own. Garak’s hands hastily unzipped the front of Julian’s uniform before ducking beneath the fabric of the gray undershirt. Cool fingers met his heating flesh and he moaned. They moved faster then, spreading across Julian’s upper chest and brushing against his nipples. A whimper rose. Garak’s tongue retreated. Teeth brushed against his bottom lip. Fingers pinched onto one of the nubs. Julian gasped. Their kiss broke. He let in a shaky breath.

“G-Garak–”

“Dax to Bashir.”

Julian held back a frustrated moan. He couldn’t believe it. _Now_? He hadn’t seen Jadzia all day and now she wanted to talk? His head flopped against the pillow. That didn’t stop Garak from kissing his neck, but his hands did pause against Julian’s chest.

“Go ahead.” He hoped he sounded as irritated as he felt.

“Sorry to bother you, Julian, but I was hoping you could look over a report for me before I submit it. I wouldn’t normally ask, but it’s for a metal and I’d kind of like to get it.”

“Can it wait?” Julian asked. Garak’s kisses moved to his jawline. Teeth brushed against the sensitive skin above his carotid artery. Julian bit his lip to hold back a moan before giving Garak a gentle push. Garak returned to kisses.

“It can’t. I need to send it in the next two hours.”

Julian sighed.

“Please, Julian. I’ll make it up to you.”

He seriously doubted that she could. But he couldn’t say no to her. He knew that if she was in the middle of doing things with Worf – things he truly didn’t want to think about – she would stop if Julian needed her.

“Alright, just… give me a few minutes.”

“Thank you. I’ll be at your quarters in five.”

And her voice was gone. Garak grunted against his neck.

“That’s hardly enough time,” Garak said.

“It’s not near enough,” Julian said as he squirmed to a seated position. Garak eased up with him. “We’ll have to wait.”

“Really, my dear, was stopping all this really necessary?” Garak tried to push him back on the mattress. “Why don’t we make her wait on us, since she’s the one who so rudely interrupted.”

“I’m not happy about it either, but she’d do the same for me. I can’t just make her wait.”

Garak frowned but retreated. Julian got up and walked to the bathroom. He washed his face off with cold water, tried it, and then zipped up his uniform. His cheeks were still a little red, but Jadzia wasn’t an idiot. She likely knew what was happening in the middle of their conversation. No doubt she would be expecting a sign like that.

He cut back to the bedroom where Garak still stood without a shirt on.

“Garak, put your shirt on.”

“Why? Surely the Lieutenant knew what we were doing during her rather untimely call.”

“Yes, but we should still look presentable to her.”

“Oh, perhaps you should, but I am not a member of Starfleet. I’m a civilian. I can choose to look how I wish in front of one of your officers.”

Julian sighed.

“Alright, I’ll make you a deal. If you put your shirt back on and act as you normally would around Jadzia, we’ll do anything in bed that you want once she leaves.”

“That’s a dangerous proposition, my dear.”

“Maybe, but I’m willing to risk it.”

Garak smiled and plucked his shirt off the ground.

“I trust that you’re a man of your word.”

“You know I am.”

“Excellent.” Garak pulled on his shirt and began to refasten it. “Remind me to thank the Lieutenant before she leaves. And, if I may make a suggestion, my dear.” He crossed over and brushed his lips against Julian’s hear. “You should take the time to thank her too. She may not be able to repay you fully for this little interruption of hers, but I will certainly make it worth your wait.”

Garak smiled and walked out of the bedroom. Julian cleared his throat and shivered. Then a smile crossed his face.


	25. Grasp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, mentions Quark
> 
> Major Character Death. Blood. Angst.
> 
> Prompt: _“c-can I hold your hand?..” and Bashir/Garak (can you make it sad...? It's okay if you don't want to!)_ \-- for a tumblr ask box meme [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152853893133/quotes-challenge-c-can-i-hold-your-hand-and)]

"C-can I hold your hand?”

Garak looked down at that ashen face, at the bluing lips, at those dimming brown eyes that glistened only out of fear and momentary need. He didn’t want to be here, but he could never get himself to leave. He reached, he always did, towards that warm yet weakening hand. He was thanked with a limp smile and a single tear which escaped from one of those flickering eyes.

This is it. The moment he realized.

“I’m sorry we won’t be able to meet for lunch anymore,” the weakened man whispered. Garak offered a smile. A frail one. He knew it would vanish, but it couldn’t. Not yet. And it wouldn’t. Not for another moment. Not until...

“I shall treasure the ones we had, my dear Doctor.”

The man’s smile grew. It lasted a second. If there were more words that were meant to follow, they never did. There was a shaky breath, just one, before one last exhale extinguished what little light the man had left. He was gone. He always was. And Garak’s smile went with him.

How many times had he relived this? Twenty? Forty? The number hardly mattered. The pain always felt the same. The ache in his heart rang the same. He carried it with him throughout the day like a weight which only grew heavier with each pass of the promenade, each familiar face, each Starfleet uniform. It never got easier. It never would. Despite that, each time he lived through this experience, he ended it the same -- with a kiss on Doctor Julian Bashir’s forehead.

It was the closest he ever got.

He stood then and looked down at the bloody figure sprawled across the floor. Red painted the whites and blacks that dawned the Doctor’s body -- a suit out of his time. Garak spent hours on it, labored over it, crafted it to impress the dear man. He’d succeeded. He would never make a suit like that again.

“Computer, end program.”

Julian’s body disappeared. The blood and suit went with it. The pain remained. It always did. Just once, he hoped it wouldn’t.

He left the holosuite, took out the datarod, crossed Quark’s, and handed it back to the Ferengi owner. Quark didn’t ask. He never did. He simply took the rod and stowed it away with the rest.

No one spoke to Garak as he stepped out of the bar and back onto the promenade. It was full. He was empty. They were living. He was dead. He died in that holosuite, wearing a suit that wasn’t his, with his cold hand clinging onto the only family he had. A family he never truly appreciated until it was gone.


	26. Caretakers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Odo, Benjamin Sisko
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: _could you maybe write some garashir about them taking care of an abandoned cardassian egg that somehow gets left in custody of the station_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152969727468/could-you-maybe-write-some-garashir-about-them)]

“Sisko to Doctor Bashir.”

The voice from Julian’s commbadge made him jump. He’d been so focused on thumbing through his research that he hadn’t anticipated anyone would call for him, much less Captain Sisko.

"Yes, sir?” Julian said. He sounded normal enough. He doubted the Captain would notice how easily he was startled.

“Constable Odo and a Cardassian egg are being transported to the infirmary,” Sisko said, “He and Dax recovered it from a Cardassian shuttle that crashed on a Class-L planet. I need you to make sure it and the child inside are alright.”

“Of course, sir.”

Julian stepped away from the main computer console, looked towards the infirmary beds, gathered up a few blankets, and made a nest onto one of the many unoccupied beds in the room. A moment later, Odo transported into the room. He looked normal, save for his arms, which were warped to cover and protect the rather large egg tucked inside his arms. The gray, almost scaled tones of the shell that peeked through Odo’s grasp gave it’s race away. No doubt it would look camouflaged anywhere on Cardassia, but against Odo’s orange uniform, there was no hiding it.

“You can set it down here,” Julian said, motioning to the fabric nest. Odo walked over to it as Julian turned around to grab a medical tricorder. He returned. Odo was still there, his hands gently pressed against the shell. They were morphed to a shape reminiscent of pillows. He didn’t let Odo’s hold or the form his hands took hinder his work.

“What are you doing?” was the only question Julian gave.

“Trying to keep it warm,” Odo answered.

The readings said that the form inside was still alive and healthy. Strong heartbeat, normal growth progression. It would only be a couple of weeks before it hatched. Assuming, of course, the crash hadn’t hurt the shell in anyway.

“I need to see the shell.”

Odo slowly moved his hands away. Julian didn’t know if they took a more humanoid form or not; his eyes were too focused on the shell. There were no visible cracks on the top or sides. He placed the medical tricorder aside and carefully lifted the egg from it’s nest to peek under it. No cracks there either.

“Did it look like it had been jostled around when you picked it up?” Julian asked.

“No.”

It certainly didn’t look that way. Julian slowly put the egg back into the self-made nest. Odo’s shifted hands returned to it immediately. Then Julian pressed his commbadge.

“Bashir to Captain Sisko.”

“Go ahead.”

“All the preliminary readings came back normal. I’m going to run some further tests, but I’d like to involve Garak. He’ll be able to tell me what kind of damage I should be looking for.”

“Whatever you feel is necessary, Doctor.”

Julian ended the communication with Sisko and tapped on his commbadge again.

“Bashir to Garak.”

It took a moment with Garak. It always did.

“Go ahead, my dear.” There was a pleasantness to the Cardassian’s tone.

“Garak, I need you to come to the infirmary. Odo and Jadzia picked up a Cardassian egg from a crashed shuttle. The preliminary readings say it’s alive, but I need to run more tests on it to make sure the child isn’t hurt or dying.”

Whatever protests Garak had about coming to the infirmary never arose. Instead, there was a pause. A quiet, uncertain pause.

“I’ll be right there.”

Julian was relieved. He made eye contact with Odo. The changeling’s face seemed as stoic as ever, but there was something in his eyes that mirrored his own feelings. A soft smile rose on Julian’s face before he turned back to the medical tricorder to change the settings. There were a few human infant settings, a majority of which were useless. He set it to scan for brainwaves, all of which seemed normal for human infants in their third trimester.

He heard footsteps. Fast ones. They almost stomped through the promenade and into the infirmary. Julian glanced up. Garak slipped in, his concern clearly marring his face. His eyes flicked between Julian and Odo before settling on the egg.

“Constable,” he said, “How good of you to help with such a task. How long has this egg been in your custody?”

“Twenty minutes,” Odo answered.

“Have you checked the shell for any breaches, Doctor?” Garak asked, discarding any pet names or romantic pleasantries out of habit. Julian hardly noticed.

“I did. I didn’t notice any.”

“Excellent. May I?”

Julian nodded as he flicked through the tricorder settings. He watched Garak pick up the egg out of the corner of his eye. The longer he head it, though, the more attention Julian gave the situation. He glanced over. Garak’s hands were slowly skittering across the surface, the pads of his fingertips brushing through tiny craters and imperfections with an ease Julian ever saw Garak use with fine silk and Julian’s body on warm, romantic nights. After a moment, Garak placed the egg back inside the nest and then started gathering the fabric around it with the same amount of care.

“The shell is perfectly intact, so I doubt the rest of your tests will bring back anything other than healthy results,” Garak said, “I will not stop you from running any tests you wish, but I’m afraid this room is far too cold for a Cardassian egg to remain in. I suggest that we either increase the temperature to a more suitable level or we relocate the egg to a room with a warm climate.”

“Like your room?” Julian said.

“That would suffice.”

“I’ll stay with you, then.”

“My dear, that really isn’t–”

“Garak, I’m a doctor. If there are problems or it begins to hatch, I need to be there. I’ll adjust the climate controls in my room if me staying with you bothers you that much.”

“No,” Garak said, “It won’t be necessary.”

“If you’re sure.”

“Quite sure.”

“Alright,” Julian said, “Now it would be best to let me finish my tests here, just in case. It should only take a few minutes. Feel free to hold it. You won’t be in the way.”

Odo’s hands returned to the gray surface as fur-coated, inflated fingers that seemed to engulf the entire casing. Garak didn’t protest.

The Cardassian fetus, female, it turned out, was still, but otherwise fine, as Garak predicted. It took a few minutes to test that out. Minutes that the three of them let go by in silence. The first noise between them was Julian pressing on his commbadge.

“Bashir to Captain Sisko.”

“Go ahead.”

“She’s going to be fine, Captain,” Julian said, his eyes flicking up to Garak. Relief seemed to wash over the older man’s features. “Garak suggested that we keep the egg in a warmer climate. I’d like it to stay in Garak’s quarters for now. He’s already agreed and I’ll be staying with him.”

“Good. If anything changes, keep me up to date.”

“Captain,” Garak cut in. “If I may, what is it you plan to do with this child once it’s hatched?”

“Assuming we don’t find the proper parents, I imagine it would go to an adoption center on Bajor. If no one else on the station wants to take it, that is.”

The thought of that made Julian’s heart ache. His eyes flicked to the shell, to the unaware figure curled up inside. She didn’t deserve to be thrust into an adoption center. No one did. And yet, that may be the only option. He knew how orphans were treated on Cardassia. No doubt everyone involved in this conversation did too.

“Constable,” Garak said, shattering the heavy silence that built up between them, “Would you mind carrying the egg to my quarters? I believe you would be far more capable of such a feat than me or the good doctor.”

Without a word, Odo’s arms extended, wrapped around the egg, and pulled it gently to his chest. The three of them walked from the infirmary to the turbolift, which then took them to the habitat ring. People stared. None stopped to do it, but Julian noticed gazes fixed on the Cardassian egg, on the changeling protector, on Garak and Julian who no doubt looked like rather uncomfortable soon-to-be parents to the gossipy crowd. Word would spread, mutate, and then find it’s way back to Julian in questions of possible names, the egg’s whereabouts, and whether or not Garak was involved with it’s coming aboard. Garak normally welcomed such gossip, but Julian wasn’t sure it would be so inviting this time around.

They arrived at Garak’s quarters without much resistance, thankfully, and ducked inside. Julian didn’t care for Garak’s climate control settings. It was hot, edging the fine line to discomforting. He could never decide how to dress, though Garak always insist that his clothes hardly mattered; they’d be discarded in a matter of minutes. Julian never protested to that. But here, as a doctor, he certainly did. His uniform was just far too heavy for this kind of climate.

After gathering various fabrics from a bin in his clothes, Garak made another nest for the egg on his couch. Odo placed the egg in it, explained that he needed to file an incident report, and excused himself, leaving Julian and Garak to care for the sealed up Cardassian lass. Julian went to ask Garak about it, but as soon as Odo disappeared, Garak exited to the bedroom. At first, Julian thought he might stay there in a silent protest to these arrangements. However, he returned with a pool of purple and blue fabrics draped over his arm.

“If you are to stay in these quarters for a few weeks, perhaps wearing this while present will make the experience more enjoyable,” Garak said. He held the purple piece to Julian’s body. It was a shirt, traditional to a more barren, desert environment on Earth, except the blue sleeves were sheer and the entire piece rather loose. “I’m afraid this is the only outfit I have for you at the moment, but I can complete others within the next few days, if you desire.” Garak put aside the shirt and pressed the blue trousers to Julian’s body. They were loose too. They reminded Julian more of genie trousers than anything else. But as he felt the shirt fabric, he realized how thin it was, how breathable, how light. He’d be cooler. Assuming that he wouldn’t be cuddling with his rather chilly Cardassian mate, of course. He smiled.

“Thank you, Garak, but this really wasn’t necessary.”

“Perhaps not, but I had expected you would wish to share quarters at some point without the removal of clothes and I believed this would cater to both our desires. I would be able to have the climate controls at a comfortable setting, and you, my dear, would be able to wear cooling and very suiting clothes.”

Julian smiled and took the clothes.

“Thank you.”

Garak bowed his head and look towards the egg. Julian didn’t bother moving to a different room to change his clothes. He simply set aside the medical tricorder and started undoing his uniform.

“I’m afraid Captain Sisko won’t have much luck finding her family,” Garak said, “I imagine that they died in that shuttle crash.”

“How can you be so sure?” Julian asked, “Surely–”

“Cardassians do not make a habit of traveling with their eggs, my dear. In fact, once a Cardassian woman enters enjoinment, she is to remain at home, on Cardassia, in the safety of the city, as she’s considered to be irreplaceable. If she works for the state in the military, she’s asked to resign from her post and take her place in Cardassian society as a wife and mother.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am quite serious. Which is why I found it so odd that Chief O’Brien would have his wife and child aboard the station when he first arrived.”

“He lived here. They can’t just stay behind.”

“Cardassian women often do.”

Julian stripped off the outer layer of his uniform and sighed, happy to be rid of the heavy material.

“Then we’ll have to find a family for her,” Julian said as he started to strip off his undershirt. “I’d hate to put another kid in the adoption centers on Bajor. There’s already so many there.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be so easy,” Garak said, “I doubt many Bajoran families would be interested in taking a young Cardassian woman.”

The undershirt was gone. Julian started pulling on the loose trousers. The fabric was chilly and loose against his slowly dampening skin. He almost sighed at the contact. He likely would have if his mind wasn’t so preoccupied.

“And we can’t find someone on Cardassia to take her,” Julian said.

“It certainly isn’t likely.”

As soon as the trousers were on, Julian looked over at the egg.

“Do you think someone on the station would take her?” Julian asked.

“I’m not certain,” Garak said, “But for the time being, we will have to. Assuming, of course, that you have no issues with that.”

“None what so ever.”

“Glad to hear it.” Garak turned. “Now, I believe I have some rather interesting Cardassian children’s literature somewhere in my quarters. Perhaps reading some aloud to her will be beneficial.”

“Is that a Cardassian belief or a personal one?” Julian asked as he pulled on the loose, sheer shirt.

“Both.”

Julian smiled.


	27. Expectations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Established, early Garashir.
> 
> Prompt: _yo if ur taking prompts rn i could rly use a cute and fluffy garashir first kiss story_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152972750793/yo-if-ur-taking-prompts-rn-i-could-rly-use-a-cute)]

This wasn’t what Garak expected.

To be fair, Doctor Julian Bashir did have a plethora of holosuite programs. Assuming which one he would use for this rather fortuitous evening would have been rather difficult. Garak dressed nicely, as his dear doctor had asked, but gave the slim suit enough room to comfortable if he should need to run, jump, or even fight. Whatever this little program would push them through, Garak’s hems and stitches were more than prepared.

The fine dining setting was not what he imagined. Neither was the instrumental piano music, the lit candles, the dim lights, the dinner setting. How quaint. He wondered when Bashir’s next arch-nemesis would rush into the room and attempt to snatch away their very lives.

“What do you think?” Doctor Bashir asked.

“It certainly has it’s charm, Doctor,” Garak said. The doctor huffed next to him. He peered over. The man looked a little miffed, perhaps even frustrated. “Is something the matter?”

“You called me ‘Doctor’.”

“I have called you ‘Doctor’ since we met,” Garak said.

“Yes, but we’ve been together for almost two weeks. I would think that you would have switched to something else by now.”

“Something like what?”

“‘Julian’.”

“’Julian’? I was not aware we were regarding each other by our first names.”

“It’s not first names, Garak, it’s names in general. You don’t even call me Bashir.”

“I certainly will when the situation calls for such things.”

The doctor still frowned.

“My dear doctor, I do not regard anyone by their name. I solely use titles.”

“I know that, I just…” The good doctor sagged a little. He sighed. “It doesn’t matter.” He started towards the dinner set table. Garak reached out and grabbed his wrist. He didn’t have to pull in order to get Julian to turn around. Their eyes met.

“You really are too transparent with your emotions,” Garak said, “You would not have brought this matter to my attention if it truly meant nothing to you. Now, perhaps you will enlighten me as to why you wish me to call you something other than ‘Doctor’.”

Garak felt the doctor’s pulse under his fingers. It was a light, delicate thing, much like the good doctor’s faltering expression. Those brown eyes lingered before dipping away, cascading to stare at something irrelevant on the floor.

“I hoped I was a little more than just a title, I suppose.”

“Oh, but you are,” Garak answered. The doctor’s eyes flicked towards him again. “I would not have agreed to this arrangement of ours if you had merely been a doctor to me.”

Silence. The smile didn’t return to the doctor’s face. Garak eased his arm back but didn’t dare release Doctor Bashir’s. The tan human guided towards him. Space closed. Eyes remained locked. His other hand found it’s way to the good doctor’s waist. Disappointment edged out of Bashir’s easing brow line.

“What if I were to express my affections in a more physical manner?” Garak asked. His voice was hushed. His eyes flickered to Julian’s lips. He’d done this before, with a rather naive Cardassian woman early in his career. He knew the doctor’s response would mirror what that woman had done – a sharp breath, a swallow, a roll of the tip of the tongue over his lips. Garak’s eyes flashed up again. There was no doubt lingering on the doctor’s face. Good. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Bashir’s.

There was a warmth there. Heat. Burning, almost. Such a delightful sensation. It almost edged a moan from his own throat. The doctor’s fingers found his jacket sleeve and skated along the fabric after a second of contact. It was his cue. He waited a count. Another. Then gently pulled his lips away. His eyes opened. Bright brown eyes stared back, coated with the happiness that tugged on those sensationally heated lips. Just as warm and just as delightful as the kiss had been.

Nothing like the Cardassian woman he’d tricked years before.

“Was that to your liking?” Garak asked.

“Yeah,” the doctor answered, “I was kind of hoping there’d be another one.”

“All in good time, my dear doctor.”

The smile didn’t falter. Good. Garak intended to pocket the use of ‘Julian’ for another romantic occasion.


	28. Not So Lonely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Kukalaka
> 
> Established Garashir
> 
> Prompt: _I remember seeing a post going around about Garak repairing Kukalaka, maybe something along those lines? Or Garak teasing Julian about his attachment to the toy, but he's secretly fond of it, maybe making sure the bear is well kept, or making clothes for him? I dunno, anything with Garak and Kukalaka, the fluffier the better!_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152976671693/prompt-i-remember-seeing-a-post-going-around)]

“How could you carry such sentiment for an inanimate object?”

Garak had asked that when he picked up Kukalaka for the first time. Julian remember feeling hurt, almost betrayed, by the words and tone. But there were cultural differences between them. There were no doubt going to be some questioned motives and choices on both sides. So he explained, in a rather inflexible tone of his own, that Kukalaka was with him all his life and that he’d gone with him to the hospital when he was genetically engineered. Garak accepted that answer, though it was clear the Cardassian still didn’t quite understand.

“How is that bear of yours?”

It cut into conversation in random once, a few weeks later. Julian was jarred by it. He almost dropped his fork on the floor. But he’d answered, in an albeit puzzled tone, that Kukalaka was fine and still sitting on the shelf where Garak had left it.

“So you don’t make a habit of hugging your oldest companion?” Garak asked. “That really is such a shame, my dear.”

Julian carried Kukalaka to bed with him that night.

Kukalaka was mentioned in conversations periodically after that. It was never anything major; hints and sparks of polite conversation intermingled within their usually literary squabbles. Julian didn’t think much of it then but now that he considered these moments, he believed that there was something glistening in Garak’s eyes every time he spoke of his old companion.

Julian had been off the station for four days for a medical conference. He’d asked Kukalaka to hold down the fort while he was away. He doubt the stuffed bear would have to resort to any violent measures. In truth, the little thing could hardly lift a finger, let alone fight any being. If he had to fight, he was likely going to be destroyed. A rather heartbreaking concept. One that Julian suspected was far too real when he returned to his quarters and Kukalaka was absent from his spot on the shelf. His alarm, though, was quelled by the tiniest noise. One he’d heard before, during darkened nights when Garak was by his side and sleep was still too far away.

He slipped across the sitting room and peered into his quarters. Garak was asleep on his bed, covers wrapped around him. Julian wasn’t sure how Garak got into his quarters. He wasn’t sure he cared. All that mattered to him was the fact that his darling Cardassian was asleep and Kukalaka was in his arms, the little bear giving just a small wave to Julian in earnest.

Julian crossed the room, placed his bag next to his bed, and gave the man a gentle shake. Garak’s eyes opened almost immediately and searched, almost frantically, before falling on him. Julian smiled.

“You’re home early, my dear,” Garak murmured, the surprise wiped from his face as that tired aura seeped back in.

“I didn’t want to stay another night,” Julian said. Garak’s hands reached for him. Kukalaka tumbled free. It lay abandoned but acknowledged at Garak’s side. Julian watched Kukalaka’s still form before looking back at Garak’s face.

“He was quite lonely,” Garak said, “And insisted that I keep him company while you were away.”

“Maybe he wasn’t the only lonely one,” Julian answered.

“Yes, I imagine you were quite lonely as well.”

A coy smile brushed onto Garak’s face. Julian shook his head as his smile grew. Then he let himself all into Garak’s arms and allowed the Cardassian to pull him under the covers. Julian salvaged Kukalaka and placed him between them, it’s tiny frame squished between them.

“You haven’t even changed your clothes, my dear,” Garak said. A kiss pressed against Julian’s forehead.

“It can wait until morning.”

Julian closed his eyes and snuggled into his partner while Kukalaka stayed poised between their arms.


	29. Jules

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Misuse of name mentioned.
> 
> Prompts: _“It’s fine, stop worrying about me”_ \+ _“I can’t believe they spelled your name wrong again”_ \-- for tumblr prompt meme [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153026174033/garashir-6-17-if-youre-still-up-for-prompts)]

_It is in our best interest for Chief Medical Officer Jules Bashir to continue his work on Deep Space Nine_.

Jules Bashir.

Jules.

Garak could have thrown the PADD across the room. He almost did, in fact. But he managed to reel in his fury and only express it through his voice.

“I cannot believe they intentionally used the incorrect name again,” Garak said. He was sure it sounded more like a deep hiss to his companion, who remained reclined on the couch, his brown eyes staring at the ceiling.

“It’s fine, Garak.”

“Oh, this is _hardly_  the definition of fine, my dear,” Garak said. He glared at the PADD. At that damn name. At _Jules_. “They may have allowed you to keep your position, but that hardly means they respect you. To use the name you deemed so reprehensible that you changed it in an official federation report shows how little they actually care for you as a person. I imagine this decision was only based on the sacrificial act of your father and the passionate insistence of Captain Sisko.”

“I don’t disagree, but this was bound to happen.”

Garak shifted his glare to Julian.

“And that makes this deplorable use of your birth name acceptable?”

“No, but it’s nothing to worry about. I got to keep my position. That’s all that matters.”

“That is not all that matters,” Garak said, “Such disrespect in Cardassian society–”

“This isn’t Cardassian society, Garak,” Julian said as he finally made eye contact. There wasn’t a flicker of light in them. “The Federation has strict rules on genetic engineering. I’m lucky I was able to keep my commission. I can’t expect everyone in Starfleet or even in the medical field to accept me now that the truth is out. There’s going to be people out there that are going to treat me this way regardless of my accomplishments.”

“And you’re just going to let them?”

“Yes.”

Garak tightened his grip on the PADD. He felt the thing tremble in his hand. Julian saw it, no doubt, because he stood from the couch, walked over, and placed his hand on Garak’s. The doctor’s warm fingers slowly eased his grip, though the PADD never slipped from it.

“Garak, really,” Julian said, “It’s fine.”

“Then where is your fire?”

Julian blinked.

“What?”

“Your fire, my dear. When you discuss anything with me, there is such a blaze in your eyes that one could mistake the brown tones of them for Earthen topaz and yet this matter has deadened that color. You say that it’s fine, but I’m afraid your eyes tell a rather different story.”

Silence. Garak watched Julian’s expression shift from that stoic one to another Garak only saw once – in the holosuite, when his eyes laid on the picture of Jadzia and he realized that the young woman he treasured as a valued friend might die and be gone forever. Shock. Dismay. Uncertainty. Perhaps in his young doctor’s mind, Julian considered the reaction normal and even intended on allowing it to continue, but now, here, behind the closed doors of his quarters, Julian let that veil fall. After a second, his gaze went with it. Garak doubted he was looking at anything significant.

“My dear Julian,” Garak said, placing his free hand above the one Julian laid across his other moments ago, “I realize that you wish to keep your response to this matter private and I intend to maintain secrecy on the matter. However, I implore you to show your emotions with me, even if you believe they are inappropriate or sorely misplaced. I will not judge you over such matters.”

Julian’s fingers tightened against Garak’s hand. A tremble surged through them. Then Julian’s free arm lurched forward and wrapped around the back of Garak’s neck. Garak was pulled in; his nose was forced to brush the short strands of hair on the side of Julian’s head. Garak lifted his hand away from Julian’s fingers and wrapped his arm around the doctor’s waist. Julian’s face pressed into his shoulder. It took a second, then another, before Julian sobbed. It was such a heartbreaking sound. It nearly built up Garak’s rage a second time. There was a time and a place for such feelings though, and here, now, Julian needed anything but his anger.

Garak planted a kiss on the Julian’s ear, rubbed his hand against the doctor’s back, and let the man cry.


	30. Enjoying The Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak
> 
> Established Garashir. Almost NSFW. Neck kissing. Movement resistance.
> 
> Prompt: _Julian & Garak, planting a garden?_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153029626988/julian-garak-planting-a-garden)]

Ever since Chief O’Brien mentioned building Keiko an arboretum on the station, the thought hadn’t left Julian’s mind. He’d talked the Chief out of it, sure, but the more Julian thought about it, the more he was convinced that an arboretum would be a fantastic addiction to the station. It would be a great place for many people to escape to, especially ones that didn’t enjoy the holosuite.

Julian brought the idea up to Kira first. Although she was somewhat leery of Julian’s ideas and he knew it, her face immediately lit up at the suggestion. She spouted off a list of flowers that would be fantastic on the station and even considered a few options for gardeners, one of which actually owned a flower shop on the station.

After that successful meeting, he brought the idea up with Chief O’Brien again. The Chief protested at first, but after telling of Kira’s enthusiasm and insisting the pros of having the arboretum on-board, O’Brien relented and fished out the old arboretum drafts.

They both took the drafts to Commander Sisko. It only took the Commander five minutes to say “yes”.

A few Bajoran workers took three days to clean out the storage space. O’Brien helped when he could and Julian, in his office hours, ran over to help as well. It cut his time with Garak, who protested about the matter after the first night. Julian insisted he’d make it up to him once the arboretum was finished. He even suggested that Garak help, but the Cardassian was less than thrilled about that prospect. Julian was disappointed, but let it slide.

Four days after the storage unit was cleared, Julian found himself alone in the arboretum planting some of the flowers that the Bajorans brought from their planet. There weren’t many left, so Julian thought he would surprise the small team of Bajorans by finishing the work while they slept. He didn’t mind living of Raktajinos for one day. He did it plenty of times before and the delight at the finished work would make the tired work day worth it.

He shoveled out some of the dirt, set the hand shovel aside, and placed a red Bajoran flower where the dirt had once been. It looked pretty lined up with the other reds and pinks that filled that section of the arboretum. He then shifted the dirt over, ensuring the flower base was covered completely before moving onto the next plant. He did this with a number of flowers, some small bushes, and a rather tiny tree, no doubt in it’s infancy. He moved onto a section of blue flowers to continue the process. He shoved some dirt aside, placed one flower in the soil, and began to cover it up.

“Really, my dear, you garden as quickly as you eat.”

Julian jumped and nearly screamed. His eyes flicked over to the door where Garak stood. The Cardassian was wearing a rather plain brown top and some blue trousers, neither of which Julian had seen before.

“You really should take your time with such things,” Garak said as he crossed the room, “How else will you be able to appreciate the process?”

“I just want to get this done,” Julian answered as Garak walked behind him. Julian reached for the hand shovel and took his eyes off his Cardassian partner. He felt Garak’s eyes on him as he shoved aside dirt, picked up a blue Bajoran lily, and placed it into the freshly dug hole. Just as he was about to cover up the roots, two cooled, Cardassian hands covered the tops of his own human ones. The thumbs rolled against the outer edge of his palms as the fingers guided gently against his own.

“Take your time,” Garak whispered, his breath warm against his ear, “You’ll appreciate the process more, my dear.”

Julian hesitated. Then his hands started moving again, slowly, delicately. Garak’s hands moved with his own as if they were a piece of him. They never hindered, never resisted, only felt the guide of his gentle pace.

Two more blue flowers were planted this way before little kisses brushed against his ear. The first came when the third flower was in the ground, the second when the forth flower was picked up, the third when the roots of the forth were covered, the forth when the next flowers was picked up. Soon the kisses were only spaced apart by seconds and they shifted down Julian’s earlobe, crossed over his jaw, and trailed against the side of his neck. There were only three plants left but the more kisses he received, the more focus Julian lost. As his the third to last flower was placed in the ground, a small nibble nipped at his jawline. He gasped and rolled his head back. He felt Garak’s lips ghost back over his earlobe.

“No, no, my dear,” Garak said, “You wanted to finish the garden, remember? Don’t stop on my account.”

Julian groaned and let his head fall forward again. He almost glared at the remaining flowers as the kisses resumed. Luckily, they started back on his earlobe. He could manage that. His slightly shaky hands covered the just planted roots before he started digging another hole. His pace sped up. Garak’s fingers wrapped around his wrists and started restricting his faster movements. He still could move enough to plant the second to last flower and cover it up, but the pace he was forced to was agonizingly slow. It only became more so when those damn kisses moved down his neck again.

At that forcibly slowed pace, Julian dug the last hole and placed the last flower inside. As he was about the cover the dirt over, Garak’s hands clasped tightly around his wrists and held them in place, just out of reach of the green stem. The kisses stayed at the same pace, but nibbles intermingled with each one. Julian moaned. His eyes tilted back and he squirmed.

“G-Garak, you’re not being fair,” he said. It almost came out as a whimper.

“You should know by now that I don’t always do fair, my dear,” Garak whispered between nibbles. They moved back up to Julian’s jawline. Julian moaned again.

“But once I’m done, we can take this back to your quarters,” Julian said, attempting to wrangle what little clarity he still had.

“Ah, but I’m enjoying the moment, my dear.” A gentle bite nipped at the skin just above Julian’s carotid artery. “Aren’t you?”

Julian shivered and whimpered. He couldn’t help it. After a second, Garak’s grip finally eased. Julian used what little sanity he had left to cover up the roots of the remaining flower. Then he twisted around in Garak’s arms and glared at the man’s face with playful intent.

“This is revenge, isn’t it?” Julian asked, “For putting you off this week to finish this?”

“Perhaps,” Garak said. His arms snaked around Julian’s waist and pulled him close. “And there is a possibility that I’m not quite done either.”

The grin that spread across Garak’s face could’ve scared another man but Julian knew what motivated it. He didn’t shy away from the man’s lips. He kissed them instead.


	31. Sneak Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak
> 
> Established Garashir
> 
> Prompt: _cardassians having sticky fingers like lizards do - cardassians climbing all over the walls - garak dropping on julian from the ceiling_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153058605053/plant-dad-sulu-cardassians-having-sticky)]

Julian entered his quarters feeling good. Refreshed, even. No matter how stressful the program, spending time in the holosuite always made him feel that way. It was nice to disconnect from the world for a while.

He undid his suit tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his white shirt, and stepped farther into the room. He wasn’t quite ready to get rid of the illusion yet. Even though he was back in his quarters, he wanted one last taste of the holosuite before stripping from his suit. A martini. Yes, that sounded lovely.

Without hesitation, Julian walked towards the replicator. When he reached halfway into the room, he heard a noise. A soft, disconnecting noise. He saw a shadow. He looked up. Something fell from the ceiling and landed on him. He fell to the floor with a somewhat painful thud. He struggled for a moment, but once his eyes caught the blue ones on the face that was responsible for this rather unpleasant experience, he quit fighting.

“Garak!”

The Cardassian grinned.

“Hello, my dear.”

“What the hell did you do that for?!”

“I was testing you to see if your rather ridiculous secret agent program was actually helping you detect danger. I see that it hasn’t been successful.”

“That isn’t the point of the program, Garak.”

“Well, I would certainly hope not.”

“Get off me.”

Garak moved. Julian was able to get to his feet. His back hurt, but not enough to be concerned immediately. A bruise would form, no doubt. He could handle that when Garak was out of his quarters.

“How did you get in here anyway?” Julian said, brushing off his suit.

“My Cardassian codes still work on this station, remember?”

Julian remembered. He wondered if he could ask Odo to null them so he wouldn’t have another abrupt attack from the ceiling again. His eyes tracked to where he believed Garak waited. There was nothing to indicate where the Cardassian was.

“And how’d you get up there?”

“Ah, a little lesson in Cardassian physiology,” Garak said. “Observe, Doctor.”

Julian watched as Garak crossed the room, pressed his hands and feet on the wall, and then scaled up it with little effort. The ceiling was just as easy. The longer this went on, the more uncomfortable Julian became. He didn’t know Cardassians could do this. If he didn’t know, there was a chance that many people outside Cardassia didn’t know. Maybe it was something they kept secret, something they used to their advantage in combat, on missions.

Then he wondered if Garak had showed him this on purpose.

The Cardassian dropped onto the couch and then eased onto the floor.

“I believe that’s enough demonstrations for now,” Garak said as he walked to Julian again, “I must say, my dear, this suit is far more sensational on your body this way. Though, I’m afraid there is not nearly enough collarbone for my liking.”

Julian turned to the replicator.

“Yeah, well, after that stunt you pulled, you can wait.”

“I hardly think that’s far, my dear.” Garak’s arms wrapped around his waist. “If I harmed you, though, that’s a rather different matter.”

“My back does hurt,” Julian said, inputting the options for his martini.

“My apologies. I shall retrieve your medkit right away and do something for that sore back of yours. It is the least I can do.”

A kiss was planted on his cheek before Garak drifted away. Julian heard him enter the bathroom. He watched the Cardassian’s shadow dance along the wall as he retrieved the kit from it’s place. Julian smiled. This was the second favor Garak was doing for him that night.


	32. Reasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, mentions Odo, Kira Nerys, Miles O'Brien, and Jadzia Dax
> 
> Autistic Julian Bashir (named Jules).
> 
> Prompt: _can you write about established garashir with autistic julian and Garak learns about Julian bein autistic_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153075298373/can-you-write-about-established-garashir-with)]
> 
> Author's Note: This was a prompt I received in my Tumblr inbox from someone else. My knowledge about autism is actually pretty limited, so I looked up how autism looks in adults. I can’t promise this is 100% accurate, but I tried my best. Please feel free to correct me if I’ve made a mistake in characterizing some of this behavior. I can’t learn without constructive criticism.

Garak always adored Doctor Bashir. Since he laid his eyes on him in the replimat, Garak knew he had to get closer to him. Sure, the young man was a little shy, quiet, and kept to himself, but there was something about him Garak couldn’t steer away from. He thought, at the time, it was his need for information from a naive source that pulled him to the tanned man. As time went on, however, he found his attraction was entirely different.

It took a few conversations to break down the barriers that the young man built, but once literature was mentioned, the young doctor’s face lit up and they spoke back and forth about chosen reading for hours. They traded books then, and weekly lunches because a battle ground for literary opinions and cultural differences. On occasion, Bashir spoke just as passionately about medical science and Garak did his best to maintain that conversation. After all, seeing the delight in the young man’s face as he spilled secrets about human anatomy was far more entertaining than Garak ever expected it to be.

It wasn’t until Bashir helped him with the wire tucked in his brain that Garak really started paying attention to the young doctor. In the coming months, he became acutely aware of Doctor Bashir’s growing list of odd behaviors.

No matter what work awaited at the infirmary, Bashir always showed up to the replimat at the same time. He admitted to Garak that he even showed up at the same time and place on days where they didn’t eat lunch together, just to keep the routine. Garak showed up more often to surprise Bashir after that. Some days, when Bashir had a PADD in his hands as he ate, the young doctor became irritated by his presence. Garak never let that bother him, though he did become quite curious. Bashir welcomed their weekly lunches, so why would a surprise one be any different?

That’s when he began to make inquiries around the station. Inquiries he started with Constable Odo.

The Constable explained that Bashir was a man of routine, much like Odo himself. It was one of the reasons, Odo presumed, that he and Doctor Bashir were quite good friends. They had breakfast together every Tuesday morning, just as Garak and Bashir had lunch together every Thursday afternoon. Their talk was more to do with recent happenings on the station and less to do with Garak and Bashir’s rather passionate discussions, but Odo enjoyed the company and it appeared that Bashir did as well.

A trip to Quark’s and some conversations with the bar’s owner, Quark himself, brought Bashir’s lack of friendships to his attention. Aside from Odo and Garak, Bashir really kept to himself. He would steal away a few hours in the holosuite every Wednesday evening, but he was often alone and came back looking just as he entered. Quark said the programs weren’t sexual in nature. Odd, considering that’s what the suites were meant for. If Bashir ever came to the bar for a drink, which was incredibly rare, he came alone. His solitude would often be interrupted by interested girls, but it was clear the good doctor lacked the finesse he needed to understand what they wanted. He would strike up conversation, but his disjointed words and hushed, shy tone sent the ladies away. Quark once offered to give Julian advice on romance, but Julian looked surprised and insisted that he had no idea the woman was hitting on him. “It was as clear as latinum under the sun,” Quark insisted. Garak didn’t doubt him.

Next he spoke with Jadzia Dax. They had graduated from Starfleet together, after all, so the trill was likely to know more about Bashir than anyone on the station. Her knowledge, however, was limited. Aside from a few remarks about how painfully quiet Bashir was around her, most of her knowledge was based around his career as the station’s doctor. She’d mentioned that he had a good bedside manner, but often spoke the truth to patients that needed comfort instead. In one instance, he made a young Bajoran woman cry. After that, nurses took over the more emotional moments and Bashir focused on medicine, healing, and research. An agreeable arrangement, though a bit puzzling.

The remaining people he’d asked – a few Bajoran civilians, Chief O’Brien, and Kira Nerys – all gave similar responses. Bashir was shy, quiet, but offered nice company in quiet spaces. Kira and O’Brien both stated that their missions with Bashir were quiet, but often very pleasant. What little conversation was made had to do with the mission and, on occasion, their medical health.

The only variation in story came from Chief O’Brien, who said that Bashir had once provided him with ways to better care for his shoulder. The conversation was forty-five minutes long and O’Brien was sure the young man didn’t breathe through out the entire thing. “I didn’t know he could talk that much,” the Chief had said.

“Oh, you’d be surprised how much that young man can talk,” was Garak’s answer.

After the investigation, Garak let the information sit in his mind. They had five lunches after that, each just as delightful as the ones before. Garak took notice of Julian’s motions and words then. And the more he noticed the repeated phrases, the odd eye movements towards unusual sounds, the perk of his lips when Garak made said “Oh”, the more Garak found himself infatuated with the young man. He was crossing into dangerous territory but he realized that it was far too late to turn back.

After those five conversations, Garak made a point to begin flirting with the young doctor. Bashir never seemed to notice. Garak tried more aggressive tactics – a warm smile, an arm brush, a hand touch – and yet Bashir never acknowledged it. After a month of this, Garak finally had enough. He pulled Bashir off the promenade while they were on their way to lunch and asked the puzzled and rather frustrated young man why he had been ignoring his advances. Bashir’s expression eased considerably.

“You were flirting with me?” he’d asked.

“My dear doctor, I do not make the habit of attempting to hold hands with everyone on the promenade, nor do I attempt to court others with a smile. Surely you must have noticed.”

“I didn’t.” There was a shyness to his tone. But he did agree to a date and that was good enough for Garak.

They’d been together for six months. A delightful, rather unusual six months that rotated around Bashir’s schedule. They made weekly date nights, where Garak went to Bashir’s quarters; ones that were surprisingly bare, save for a small toy bear that was placed on a shelf. Kukalaka, Bashir called it. A childhood thing. The day he learned that was the day he started calling the dear doctor Jules. He’d never seen the man smile so bright. After that, kisses went from rare to frequent, but only behind closed doors. They held hands on the promenade, but Jules often busied his hands so they wouldn’t have to. They still traded smiles, Jules’s often bashful, and their relationship was known, but too much contact seemed to make the man shy away. Too much contact behind closed doors was similar. Although they had sex, it was rare and, often, Jules excused himself afterwards and sat in the bathroom from anywhere from five to thirty minutes alone. He always came back in a content state, but Garak could never figure out why the doctor exhibited such odd behaviors, especially after they just had such a delightful time.

It was after one of those times, in the dimmed light of the bedroom, that Garak finally addressed the issue. Jules unraveled himself from Garak’s arms and attempted to walk to the bathroom. Garak grabbed his wrist. The expression Jules’s face went from calm to distressed almost instantly.

“Why don’t you lay with me, my dear?” Garak asked. He brushed his thumb along the inside of Jules’s wrist.

“I will, I just need a few minutes.”

“Whatever for?”

Jules didn’t answer him. He just looked to the bathroom door and looked back at Garak.

“Garak, please-”

“My dear, whatever it is, I assure you, you can tell me. I must admit that I find your immediate removal from this bed after our rather delightful love making rather hurtful. It is not typical of mates to do such things, you know.”

Jules blinked and then looked away.

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized.”

“I’m quite sure. Now, my dear Jules, could you please tell me why you insist on leaving instead of immediately joining my company?”

There was silence again. Garak’s thumb brushed against Jules’s skin again. He thought it would be a comforting gesture, but Jules almost pulled his arm from Garak’s grasp.

“Sex overstimulates me,” Jules finally said. He didn’t make eye contact.

“If you need another go, my dear–”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jules answered abruptly, “I have an extreme reaction to sensory stimuli. Touch, smell, taste, sound, it can be too much for me. After sex, I just need a little space and to be alone so I can decompress. It’s part of my autism.”

Garak let go of his wrist immediately. Jules looked at him.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what your autism is, but I believe your well-being should come before my questions. I will wait as long as you need.”

Jules looked grateful. There was a moment of hesitation before he kissed Garak on the lips, a quick peck really, before he disappeared behind the bathroom door. Garak grabbed Jules’s PADD off the bedside table. The good doctor had been reading their weekly text, a human one. Garak thumbed through the next couple pages before Jules emerged again.

“Isn’t that mine?” Jules said. He sounded a bit panicked.

“Yes, but I remember where you were,” Garak said, thumbing the text back before handing it to the doctor. Jules read a few of the words, eased again, and set the PADD aside. “Now, what is this autism of yours?”

Jules looked at his hands as his left fingers started to pick at the back of his right hand.

“It’s a neurodevelopmental disorder that hinders the development of communication and social skills,” he explained in a meek voice, “I wasn’t diagnosed until I was seven. I never had problems talking, so my parents never suspected. Once I started school, it became clear that something was wrong. I couldn’t get along with my peers. Being in the classroom, especially during loud moments, made me agitated and communicating that frustration was a problem. It wasn’t unusual for me to throw objects or hide in the corner of the room with my hands covering my ears. I also had problems understanding easy concepts. Where my peers were understanding the difference between cats and dogs and trees, I just never quite grasped the concept. My teacher was the one who suggested seeing a doctor and I was diagnosed with autism a few weeks later.

“I was placed into special classes after that. They helped me develop some coping mechanisms and social skills. There were special tutors to help me with topics I didn’t understand and others that searched for the one or two topics I excelled in, which ended up being biological science and literature. Until I went to medical school and Starfleet Academy, they worked with me to develop what skills I could.”

Jules paused. Garak could see a slight discoloration form of the back of Jules’s hand, where his fingers still plucked away.

“It’s why I didn’t know you were flirting with me.” Jules’s voice was nearly a whisper. “It’s also why I can’t stay in Quark’s for very long and why I don’t like changes in routine. Change… it… it’s difficult to explain.”

“You don’t have to explain everything, my dear,” Garak said, “I’m simply glad you shared this information with me.”

Jules looked up. Concern was plastered across his face. No doubt he thought Garak would reject him for his condition. A rather silly thing to think, but this autism was something Garak would never fully understand. That didn’t mean he couldn’t accept it.

“Whatever difficulties your autism brings, we will work around them. I did not enter this relationship solely for my benefit. If there are things that I do that present a problem for you, I wish to know.”

Jules smiled. It was soft.

“Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome. Now, do you wish to join me in bed or should I make my exit for the evening.”

Jules crawled into bed with him and shifted Garak’s arms around his waist.

“If this becomes too much, do not hesitate to say so,” Garak whispered. Jules smiled.

“I will.”


	33. Soft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Nakedness with no emphasis on sex or genitalia.
> 
> Prompt: _Garak and Bashir, doing some kind of hair care for each other. Hair washing or combing, scalp massages or whatever. Domestic/romantic grooming._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153112039948/hey-how-about-this-prompt-garak-and-bashir)]

There’s nothing that soft on Cardassia.

Garak realized that the first time he brushed his hand through Julian’s hair. He wanted to do it again; he wanted to entangle his fingers in that mass of brown fluff and run his thumbs along the strands in slow, simply stretches in order to really take in how delicate and wonderful it was. But it was far too early in their relationships for that. Another time, then.

It didn’t take long for the next time to arrive, then the next, and the next. It turned out that Julian liked Garak’s hands in his hair as much as Garak liked to brush his hands through it. He’d found that out the third time he was able to comb his fingers through that fluffy, brown cloud. The simple motion was slow, deliberate, and meant only for his personal pleasure, but as soon as his fingers worked their way through and Garak dropped his hand, Julian whispered, “Don’t stop.” That was the first time he was able to revel in the natural softness.

Since then, petting and brushing Julian’s hair had become a routine, especially if the good doctor had a long or troublesome day. A day much like this one.

Garak was invited to Julian’s quarters by a drained and irritated voice. It was a voice Garak had grown more accustomed to hearing over the last several months. Though his dear doctor still held a rather optimistic view of the world, the continuing of the Dominion War and the constant loss of friends started wearing on him. It was rather unfortunate but at least together they could forget the troubles of the universe, if only for a little while.

Without hesitation, Garak went to Julian’s quarters. The young man was already stripping off his clothes, eager for a little relaxation. It was clear by his expression, though, that sex wasn’t a part of his agenda that evening. Garak understood.

“Perhaps a bath is in order,” Garak suggested. Julian walked into the bathroom without a word. Garak followed. They both stripped, Julian started the bath water, and they both settled into it with Julian resting comfortably between Garak’s legs and his head leaned back on Garak’s chest. He was warm, the water was warm, and Garak was immediately elated that he even suggested such an intimate moment.

Garak started with his hands around Julian’s waist. Slowly, though, he moved them out of the water and into Julian’s hair. His wet fingers licked against the brown strands and combed them away from the man’s face. Julian’s eyes closed and a light hum eased from his throat.

The more Garak’s hands worked through Julian’s hair, the more slick and damp the strands became. After a while, the doctor’s hair almost looked Cardassian, though it was far too short and far too light to truly be anything other than human. Garak was grateful. Even wet it still held the doctor’s bounce and charm.

“Do you want to wash it?” Julian said. Garak looked down at the man’s face. The man’s brown eyes were staring back at him. “My hair. Do you want to wash it?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose on your grooming rituals.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing. It’s actually quite easy.”

Julian reached over to a small bottle on the edge of the tub and showed it to Garak. The liquid inside looked to be a variation of a light teal. A rather unappetizing color. Nothing in his shop would ever match that rather ridiculous hue.

“You just put a tiny bit of this in your hands and do what you have been doing.”

Garak took the bottle and examined it. Then he popped open the lid, squeezed a small portion onto his palm, pressed his hands together, and then went back to work brushing the man’s hair. The liquid, if the oozing material could be called such a thing, produced small clustered bubbles almost on contact with the man’s hair. Garak watched it transform, lather, and eventually enrapture the brown strands. Though there were freckles of brown between the white foam, it wasn’t nearly enough. Garak missed it.

“Here.”

Julian’s voice and hand jarred him out of his minute disappointment. Tanned fingers carried a damp cloth to Garak’s fingers. Garak took it and immediately got to work clearing the white away. The brown strands slowly came into view again, but the foam never fully cleared from them.

“If the intent is to clear all these rather bothersome bubbles away, I’m afraid it isn’t working,” Garak said.

“Hold on.”

Garak pulled his hands away. Julian sucked down a breath and slipped under the water. The clear, cooling liquid threatened to capsize over the brim of the tub, but it never quite got there. White foam dispersed across the surface as Julian’s hair licked and roamed underneath. After a second, Julian lifted his head with a gasp. His hair was clear of the white. Brown eyes flicked to Garak’s and a grin spread across that dampened face.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes, much,” Garak answered. He rolled his thumb against Julian’s cheek. The young man came in for a kiss. It wasn’t deep, but it was long enough for Garak to brush his hand through Julian’s wet hair once more.


	34. Six Adults And A Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Benjamin Sisko, Jules Bashir, Jadzia Dax, Worf, Miles O'Brien, Kira Nerys, Odo
> 
> A direct sequel to 'Stay' - Chapter 4 in this collection.
> 
> Prompt: _can you write a fluffy ds9 piece about the senior officers taking care of julian who gets de-aged to like 8 in some alien/accident thing_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153120612198/can-you-write-a-fluffy-ds9-piece-about-the-senior)]

Ben woke to silence.

It was something he’d grown used to after Jake moved out, and he welcomed it with a soft smile. For a moment. Then he remembered that Jake’s old bedroom was occupied by a child: the de-aged Doctor Julian Bashir. He’d hoped the silence was due to the child, the self-proclaimed Jules, re-aging back to his thirty-three year old self, but as Ben’s awareness came back to him, he heard shuffling and other soft sounds that would never grace the feet of a grown man.

Ben rose from bed to take a look.

The moment he entered the main room of his quarters, Ben saw Jules. The boy was standing on one of the chairs at the dining table. Boxes of food, unopened, were strewn about it. Cabinets in the kitchen were open and emptied, it’s contents littering the table and part of the floor. Jules didn’t notice him at first. He was too busy stacking the boxes on the table like building blocks, each one perfectly aligned with the last.

“Jules?”

The boy jumped. His sudden jerk nudged the boxes over and they toppled across the table with some skittering onto chairs and others landing with graceless thumps on the floor. Wide brown eyes met Ben with a mixture of fear and uncertainty.

“What are you doing?” Ben asked. He was calm because, in truth, he was curious. Jake hadn’t done anything like this before.

Jules looked at the boxes and fussed with the front of the teal medical undershirt that was draped over him; one that once hung in Julian’s closet. The motion caused the sleeves of to unfold and cascade over Jules’s tiny hands.

“Stacking boxes,” Jules whispered.

“Why?”

Jules shrugged. Ben sighed. The poor kid. He was probably bored. They didn’t really have any toys for him to play with, despite a few kids living on the station, and they didn’t really want to invest in any. They were hoping Jules would be back to Julian in no time. Maybe a good toy outside of Jules’s bear wouldn’t hurt, especially since Kukalaka was now buried under the sea of boxes, it’s arm sticking out in a silent plea for help. That’s what Jules was looking at, Ben realized.

Ben walked around and picked up some of the boxes off the floor. He placed them on the table, away from the still but suffering bear. He fished Kukalaka out, moved some of the boxes from a chair, and placed the bear where those boxes had been.

“Well, if you’re going to do that, don’t drown your friend,” Ben said, handing Jules the stray boxes he took from the seat, “I’d hate for him to get hurt.”

Jules blinked up at him.

“You mean… it’s okay?” Jules asked.

“Of course it is,” Ben answered with a smile, “As long as you're having fun.”

Jules smiled back.

“Now, I’m going to change and then make us some breakfast. You decide what you want to eat.”

Jules nodded. Ben ruffled the boy’s hair and returned to his bedroom, a small smile on his face. He changed into one of his many work uniforms and returned to the sitting room where Jules had started another tower of boxes. The boy, with his still messy brown hair, said he wanted something sweet. Ben opted for pancakes. As he started gathering the ingredients, the door chime went off.

“Come in,” Ben called.

The door opened and Jadzia Dax walked through. She was accompanied with a drowsiness that settled bags under her eyes but a smile was still plastered on her face. She was followed by Worf, who looked just as stoic and serious as ever.

“Sorry to bother you, Benjamin,” Jadzia said, “But I was hoping to check on Jules.”

“Be my guest. I was about to start breakfast. Do you two want to eat with us?”

“That will not be necessary,” Worf said. Jadzia looked back at him. There was a clear pout on her face, but she didn’t vocalize it. Worf watched that stare for a moment before looked back at Ben. “If you do not mind.”

“Not at all,” Ben answered. Any excuse to make a large meal was good enough for him. He could see the delight awaken Jadzia’s face before she crossed the room and went to Jules’s side.

“Good morning, Jules,” she said. “What are you doing?”

“Stacking boxes.”

“Can I join you?”

Ben saw Jules nod out of the corner of his eye as he started to gather up more ingredients. More than necessary for four. Then, he started making calls to the rest of the senior staff. He asked if they would be interested in having the meeting, and breakfast, in his quarters instead of ops. They all agreed. Ben had barely started preparing food before Odo showed up. Halfway through cooking, Kira and O’Brien joined them. By then, Jadzia and Jules constructed a box town square that took up the entire table surface. Ben gave a ten minute warning. Jules, Jadzia, and Odo helped stow the boxes away, the stretching arms of the changeling offering the most length and the most entertainment for Jules, who offered boxes just to see the arms sling forward and into the cabinets. By the time they were done, food was ready.

The settled around the dining table and ate breakfast with light conversation. Jules, though at the head of the table, wasn’t responsible for any of it. He was too busy enjoying his food, thankfully. No doubt the others felt the same way, save for Odo, who spent the breakfast experience watching them eat.

“Captain, I’ve been thinking,” O'Brien said, breaking the light conversation with his rather serious tone, “Maybe we ought to let Garak make Jules some clothes. It’s better than him running around in that shirt all day.”

“We don’t know how long he’s going to stay this way, Chief,” Kira said, “What if it’s only for a few hours?”

“What if it’s for a few days?” O’Brien countered, “Or a few weeks?”

Silence. Ben looked down at Jules. The boy hadn’t noticed their shift in conversation. He just continued to eat with his loyal bear settled in his lap.

“You’re right, Chief,” Ben said, “We should.”

“Captain–” Kira started. Ben looked at her.

“Look, I know we’re all working hard to get Doctor Bashir back but we also have to take care of Jules in the process. He can’t run around the station wearing a shirt that doesn’t fit and spend all of his time stacking boxes. He needs clothes of his own and some toys to play with. When Doctor Bashir comes back, I’m sure an orphanage on Bajor would be delighted to have the clothes and toys.”

The following silence was all the agreement Ben needed.

“Chief, once we’re done here, take Jules to see Garak. Tell him that the clothes don’t have to fit perfectly, they just need to be comfortable for Jules to wear.”

“Of course, Captain,” O’Brien answered.

“Major, can you ask people around the station for any spare toys suitable for someone Jules’s age? Anything will do.”

“Yes, sir,” Kira answered.

“Dax, I want you to focus on trying to figure out how to re-age Doctor Bashir. Everyone else, focus on your duties. I may ask you to take care of Jules in the middle of your shift, so be ready for that. Otherwise, it’s work as usual.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to have someone else take care of him?” Odo asked.

“Maybe, but he is a Starfleet officer and I think it would be better if Jules stayed in constant contact with at least one of us,” Ben answered. Odo seemed content with that. So did everyone else. All other protests weren’t voiced and breakfast continued. O’Brien and Odo were the first to leave and Jules went with them, his small frame carried in O’Brien’s arms. He waved goodbye to everyone in the room. So did Kukalaka, who was still tucked in Jules’s arms, though the bear needed assistance from the young boy to do so.

“Do you really think we can age him back?” Kira asked.

“If there’s a way, we’ll find it,” Ben answered, “And if there isn’t, we’ll make sure Jules has the best second childhood possible.”


	35. Hidden Agenda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Brunt, Quark
> 
> Near sexy Garashir times.
> 
> Prompt: _Garak/Bashir - On Vacation staying at a Beach House on Risa thats haunted by Brunt, FCA_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153155587223/garakbashir-on-vacation-staying-at-a-beach)]

It took a lot to convince Garak to go to Risa.

Julian started subtly at first. A hint here or there whenever another couple would cross their line of sight. Garak never took the bait.

After a few days, Julian resorted to more direct conversations about Risa. “I hear Risa’s nice this time of year,” and, “I wonder if there are reading nooks on Risa,” were the most common. Garak answered in a polite, kind tone, but never considered the comments as anything to take seriously.

A couple weeks of this banter only made Julian more determined and a bit more aggressive. “We should go to Risa,” finally slipped out of his mouth one day and the Cardassian answered with a simple and heavy:

“No.”

When pushed, Garak gave a myriad of excuses for remaining on the station: there were Bajorans on Risa that wouldn’t welcome Garak’s arrival, some rather angry Cardassians might take the opportunity to exact revenge on his lack of tax payment, the rising conflict between the Federation and the Dominion meant that Julian would be needed on the station, and so on, and so on. Julian was already done with his excuses by the first one. It was clear Garak just didn’t want to go. It was likely because Garak didn’t know the perks of what going to Risa meant.

Julian made some calls. He discovered that there were some private beach houses for folks looking for isolation during their stay. Not only that, some of the houses offered a less humid environment, meaning they could filter out the ocean air and the inside of their cabin would be more arid, more desert like, while still providing them with a delightful view of the ocean. There were all different species that arrived on Risa, after all. Julian relayed the message to Garak. The Cardassian still wasn’t taking. So Julian, with no other options, resorted to one last attempt.

“Garak, I’ll make you a deal,” Julian said, easing onto the Cardassian’s lap while they sat in the privacy of Julian’s quarters, “If we go to Risa for a week, I will let you dress me however you want. I won’t even pack other options. I have to take my Starfleet uniform, so I look professional when I enter and leave the station, but the moment we’re out of the station’s reach, I will change into whatever you want.”

He knew Garak had been making and stowing outfits for him in the back of the shop. And the idea of Julian wearing them made his partner’s face light up immediately. Large hands rolled along his butt and pulled Julian closer to him.

“What if I don’t have enough clothes for you, my dear?” Garak asked, his voice low, almost growling.

“Well, then I guess I’ll have to walk around naked.”

And that was that. Julian took a week off and went with Garak to Risa. The request concerned Captain Sisko, but Julian promised to keep Garak out of trouble. There was doubt lingering in the Captain’s gaze, but he allowed the trip anyway. The two weeks before their trip crawled by but soon enough, they found themselves on the shuttle heading to Risa.

The moment the station was out of view, Garak pulled out a light, beige tunic. “A memory to Cardassia,” he called it. Julian changed in the control room and they spent the rest of the trip talking about books while trading lingering touches and smiles; something they hadn’t really done in several months. Garak even showered Julian with compliments about his appearance, the glow of his skin, the light in his eyes. Julian nearly melted under the affection.

Their arrival at Risa was uneventful. They beamed down to the planet and the shuttle remained in orbit with others which hovered in silence. At his request, the locals had set the inner cabin controls to a more arid setting. Julian could see Garak ease the moment they materialized into the room. Garak insisted on checking the entire home for people, but, of course, they were alone. Julian sat on the edge of the bed and watched the Cardassian go from room to room, his silhouette visible along the walls due to the glow of Risa’s setting sun. When Garak was convinced, he returned to Julian was a smile.

“I must say, my dear,” Garak said, his hands falling to Julian’s shoulders, “As delightful as this piece is on you, I think I would much rather you not wear it for the time being.”

“Then you’ll have to help me take it off,” Julian said as he pulled Garak closer to him, “I’d hate to ruin your craftsmanship by attempting it on my own.”

Garak hummed. It came out more as a growl. Then Garak pushed him back to the bed and kissed him. Large hands caressed his hair before moving to the thin fabric. Buttons were undone, cloth brushed aside, and Julian found himself half naked, his torso almost completely revealed with the belt around his waist the only thing holding the piece to his body. Hands roamed against his chest, his stomach, the crawling sensation making him gasp and moan and chuckle. His own hands brushed aside only some of Garak’s clothes to unveil the scaling beneath. It was enough to roll his fingers over and make Garak almost purr.

Then a thump.

Julian stilled and looked towards his left. It had been a light sound, really. He knew it escaped Garak’s range of hearing. For a moment, he thought about telling Garak about it, but the Cardassian took ample opportunity to relish Julian’s neck with kisses and nibbles which steadily moved down his collarbone. It was something outside, something irrelevant, Julian thought as he turned his attention back to Garak. His fingers moved again, eased across those steadily engorging scales as Garak pushed down further. Julian raised his hips and brushed them against Garak’s. Garak bit softly on his shoulder. Julian whimpered.

_Thump_.

That one didn’t come from outside. Julian glanced over towards the source again. He didn’t see anything moving in the extended shadows of the room, but something had to be there. After a second, he lifted his head to get a better look. Garak, however, hindered his movements by kissing along his jawline.

“Surely you have more wonderful things to look at than the growing darkness, my dear,” Garak whispered.

“I do, I just… I heard something.”

Garak stopped and eased his head away. Julian’s gaze met his eyes.

“Something like what?” Garak asked.

“It was a thumping noise. Like–”

_THUMP._

Julian’s eyes jerked over again. Garak pulled away from him and climbed out of bed. Julian followed, pulling the top of the tunic back in place. Although weapons weren’t allowed on Risa, Julian could see the glint of a knife shimmering in Garak’s hand. He didn’t get the chance to see where it came from but he wasn’t surprised Garak had one at all. He watched Garak walk over to the closet, pause, and then open the door.

Silence.

Garak’s knife never moved.

“Brunt, FCA,” a voice said from the closet.

FCA? The Ferengi Commerce Authority? Julian tried to peer around Garak to get a look, but the Cardassian’s frame blocked any view Julian could’ve had.

“I’m afraid we have no business with the Ferengi Commerce Authority,” Garak said and attempted to shut the door. Brunt skirted from the frame and entered the room. He was definitely a Ferengi and Julian was certain he’d seen him before. That’s right. He was the man who tried to close down Quark’s bar. If the residents of the station hadn’t stepped in, Quark would’ve had nothing. Julian crossed his arms and attempted to look more professional than he felt in these still revealing clothes.

“I don’t have any business with you either,” Brunt said, “I’m just looking for Quark.”

“Quark,” Julian said. The Ferengi look towards him. “He’s on Deep Space Nine.”

“Ah, but his brother told me he left this morning.”

“And you suspect that we brought him here with us?” Garak asked. The thought alone made Julian shiver. But Brunt nodded anyway. “Well, I invite you to search our cabin as you see fit.” Garak looked at Julian. “My dear, if you would be so kind, could you call the shuttle and inquire as to how many people are aboard?”

Julian frowned, looked from Garak to Brunt and back before he let out a defeated sigh. He went over to their baggage, plucked his commbadge from it, and pressed onto it.

“Computer,” he said. It chimed. “Tell me how many people are currently aboard the shuttle.”

“There is one person on board.”

Julian looked back at the two of them. Garak raised one of his scaled eyebrows. Brunt didn’t look surprised at all. Julian looked back at the commbadge.

“Computer, patch me into the comm system on the shuttle.”

It beeped in compliance.

“Quark?” Silence. “Quark, I know you’re there. Brunt’s here looking for you.”

“Tell him I’m not here.”

Quark’s hushed whisper was all Julian needed to sigh. He almost started yelling, but Garak’s hand brushing against his left harm held back his words. He looked towards the Cardassian’s calm, emotionless face.

“Quark,” Garak said, “If I recall, I believe we had an arrangement regarding your life that was never properly nullified. I had been willing the drop the matter but since you invited yourself along without consent and your dear companion interrupted a rather personal moment between the good doctor and myself, I may decide to act in accordance to our agreement.”

“No!” Quark yelled through the speaker. “No, no, that won’t be necessary.” A nervous laugh. “Just… have Brunt beamed onto the shuttle. We can talk like gentlemen.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Garak said.

“As am I,” Brunt said.

The communication was ended before Quark even said goodbye. Julian was fully prepared to have Brunt beamed aboard, but Garak’s words stopped him again.

“Now,” Garak said, “I am inclined to disregard your rather abrupt interruption as occupational need, but I’m afraid I cannot allow this to happen again. If you have a disagreeable encounter with Quark before Doctor Bashir and I depart from Risa, you will need to bring up the matter with someone else. I suspect that Constable Odo will be more than willing to discuss any disagreements with you.”

Julian looked at Brunt, who nodded.

“Thank you for your help.”

Garak nodded in return. Julian looked at the commbadge.

“Computer, beam Brunt to the shuttle.”

And off Brunt went to have his official FCA meeting with Quark. Julian didn’t know what that entailed and, to be quite honest, he didn’t care. He sighed and tossed the badge onto their luggage. Garak’s arms wrapped around his waist.

“Was that on your list of possible interruptions?” Julian asked as he glanced at Garak. His hands fell onto the Cardassian’s clothed elbows.

“I’m afraid it wasn’t,” Garak said, “Though I will remind himself of such a possibility in the future. But I believe that the matter has been handled.”

“You sure you don’t want to wait to find out?” Julian asked.

“Oh, I do believe the two of them fully understand what may happen if we’re interrupted a second time. Besides.” Garak’s lips brushed against Julian’s. “We have our own matters to attend to.”

Julian couldn’t agree more.


	36. One Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak
> 
> Modern Day AU.
> 
> Prompt: _Julian and Garak -- One Missed Call_ \-- for Tumblr inbox meme. [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153234869603/q-julian-and-garak-3)]

Julian left the hospital irritated and drained.

It wasn’t any particular moment that set him off. Rather, it was an accumulation of small things that built up towards the end of the day. Sometimes work was like that. He did his best to smile and care for the patients around him, but inside, as the day ticked on, he wanted nothing more than to disappear from the world and escape, if only for a second.

He wondered briefly if Miles O’Brien would be up for an MMORPG that evening as he climbed into his car and checked his phone. He was looking for the time, but it wasn’t the numbers that caught his attention. A banner appeared on the lock screen that read:

One Voice Message

It was from Garak.

Julian sighed. He’d forgotten to call Garak during lunch. In the small nuisances, it had completely slipped his mind. They hadn’t been together long, but Julian had done this enough with past partners to know how the man would respond; he’d be upset. If Julian was lucky, that’s all he would be.

With a sliver of hesitation, Julian opened his voice mail and put the phone to his ear.

“You have one unheard message,” a female, robotic voice said, “First unheard message.”

“Good afternoon, my dear,” Garak said, the chime in the tailor’s voice as delightful as ever, “I’m to assume you’re having a rather hectic day and simply forgot to call. I imagine such a career choice would precipitate such occasions. I am quite certain I will have such moments as well, especially when wedding dress requests begin. A rather deplorable season, if I may say so. But if you should decide you’re feeling up to it, return my call once you’ve heard this message. I would be delighted to hear from you regardless of the time. Do try to have a delightful time at work, my dear.”

A kissing sound was the man’s goodbye. The message ended. Julian didn’t wait for the voice mail to give him instructions. He hung up and called Garak immediately. Two rings later, the call went through.

“Good evening, my dear,” Garak said, his voice still as chipper as the message.

“Hi,” was all Julian managed to answer with.

“I take it your day was far more stressful that I had anticipated.”

“I guess.”

“Do you wish to discuss it?”

Julian sighed and rubbed his free hand against the steering wheel of his car.

“It wasn’t anything in particular. Just… a lot of little things.”

“How unfortunate,” Garak answered, “Perhaps sometime with someone else would alleviate some of these ill feelings. I would be willing to share some time with you this evening. I have yet to eat. Would you like to join me?”

Julian’s lips picked up into a soft smile.

“Thank you, Garak, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“If your presence were intrusive, I would not have suggested we meet this evening. Join me, my dear. Let us add a little light to your troublesome day. I will even neglect to mention your rather drab scrubs.”

Julian’s smile grew.

“I’d like that.”

“Excellent. Have a safe trip here, my dear.”

“I will. Thank you, Garak.”

“It’s my pleasure as always.”

The call ended. Julian started his car and headed to Garak’s with the smile still on his face. It was anything but forced.


	37. Out Of Reach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Odo
> 
> Established Garashir. Near death, internal injuries, helplessness, character tied up and gagged.
> 
> Prompt: _Gashir: On the edge of consciousness and someone’s greatest fear._ \-- for Tumblr ask box meme. [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153242232348/k-and-h-for-gashir-if-you-would-please-and-thanks)]

Julian trained for this. He knew exactly where to apply pressure, what organs could potentially be damaged, and what to do in order to prevent internal hemorrhaging. He knew it. He learned it. He owned it. Yet, Julian couldn’t vocalize his knowledge, nor could he act on it. Not like this.

On his way back to his quarters, Julian had been trapped, threatened, and knocked unconscious with a hypospray he’s certain the humans responsible obtained through the infirmary. Then he was dragged, without a comm-badge, through the halls and into one of the unused guest quarters. He woke up with hands cuffed behind him and a gag over his mouth. The three men intended to spend the rest of the night making him pay for the ghosts of an eugenics war that was long since over. But their plan didn’t include causing Julian any physical harm. They were clear about that. And their intentions were made even clearer when the door opened a forth member thrust Garak into the room.

They turned their attention on the Cardassian.

The four men had just left. Their shuttle was set to leave and they weren’t about to miss it. It would be two hours before Julian was reported missing from his post and another who knew how long before someone actually found them. That time lapse was the least of his concerns.

Garak was wheezing. It was a soft, arid breathing that battered against Julian’s heart. He tried, though futilely, to wrench his hands free from the metal cuffs. He could’ve gotten Garak to help, perhaps, if the cuffs weren’t welded onto the wall. Although the attachment had happened while he slept, he could feel the remnants of fire and melted metal searing against his fingers. They didn’t hurt like his chest and stomach, though, which wrenched and twisted with an agony that Julian hadn’t felt in years.

This was his fault. If he hadn’t been so closed about his genetic engineering, if he’d resigned after it’s reveal, if he’d been more alert and more careful, Garak wouldn’t be lying on the floor of these unfamiliar quarters bleeding and on the verge of unconsciousness.

That regret surged Julian forward with a muted cry. The extra momentum did nothing to help his position. He ground his knees into the carpet and tried again, and again, and again. The only response he got was the sharp stabs of pain that coursed through his open hands. His last tug jarred a cry from his throat he never thought he was capable of making. It was shrill, loud, and contrasted heavily with the wheezes that still emanated from the drifting Cardassian.

“My dear.” Garak’s hushed, forced words made Julian look. Dimming blue eyes stared back. They weren’t seeing him. Julian could tell. “Do not hurt yourself… on my account.”

Julian tried to voice his displeasure, but all that came out were cloth muffled words. Garak closed his eyes and shushed him. Julian fell silent.

“Someone will come for you.” Garak whispered. He tilted his head away. A wheeze. No stir. “Just…”

The sentence wasn’t finished. Though Garak continued to breath, Julian knew he’d drifted. Julian pulled harder then, yanking against the binds with everything he could muster. It wasn’t working. He opted for pounding his foot against the wall behind him and hoped that there were occupants there. Nothing. He kept squirming, kept fighting, even when his lungs burned and his heart raced faster than he ever believed possible. He needed to get out, to reach Garak, to help him live. But the more he pulled, the more he fought, the more he tried, the heavier the realization got.

He couldn’t escape. Garak was dying. It was his fault.

He almost gave up, almost relented. Then, a voice rang through the speakers of the room and, no doubt, around the entire station.

“Odo to Station Security. Doctor Julian Bashir is missing. Begin a sweep of the entire station starting with the habitat ring. Anyone awake and alert help with the search. We need to know if he’s still on the station.”

Julian became loud then, yelling and beating his leg against the wall. Garak was fading at every passing moment. Even if it cost him broken bones and a shredded voice, he would do everything he could to help the Cardassian live. Luckily, it didn’t take long. He heard voices outside the door. After a second, the door opened. Odo stepped inside. It took mere moments for him to assess the situation. He ran to Julian and pulled the gag away.

“Get him to the infirmary, he’s dying,” Julian said. His voice was far softer than he meant it to be. Odo pounded on his comm-badge and walked over to Garak before pulling it off.

“Odo to ops. I found Doctor Bashir and Garak. I’m placing my badge on Garak right now. He needs to be teleported to the infirmary for immediate medical attention. Energize.”

Seconds later, Garak’s body was gone. It was only then that Julian let his body ease. It was sore, aching, tired, but at least Garak was in capable hands. He only hoped that they were able to get him there in time.


	38. A Drink For Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Jadzia Dax
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: _could you do sharing a drink for Julian and Jadzia? (As friends??)_ \-- for Tumblr ask box meme [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153248218998/could-you-do-e-for-julian-and-jadzia-as)]

“Julian, you have to try this.”

Julian looked up from his PADD and stared at the brownish liquid that was pooled in Jadzia’s pint glass. He didn’t know what it was and, by the smell of it, he didn’t want to know.

“No, thanks.”

“Oh come on, Julian,” she said, “Just a sip.”

He looked at her face. Her wide eyes and soft smile were alluring. A younger, less experienced version of him would have floundered under such a glance. But Jadzia was a friend and they both had their own relationships. The stare, now, was one he dreaded. It was a silent plea from her that she knew, without a doubt, would make him cave. He sighed and pulled the glass to him.

“What is it?” he asked, examining the contents.

“It’s a new drink Quark made. Just try it.”

Julian leered from the glass to Jadzia and back. He tilted it, watched the liquid shift, and then, finally, brought the glass to his lips. It only took one sip for him to realize what a terrible mistake this had been.

The drink was foul. More than. It was like something had curdled and died in his mouth. He nearly spilled the remainder of the drink onto the table as he covered his mouth with his other hand. He had options. He could spit the drink out in the middle of Quark’s, rush to the bathroom and spit it out there, or swallow the damn thing down. Either way, his eyes were watering and Jadzia was almost snorting on the other side of the table. Somehow, with one last shred of willpower, downed the liquid in his mouth. A cough escaped him. Another. Tears threatened to spill over. His stomach lurched.

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?” Jadzia asked.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Julian answered, his voice ragged like he’d almost been choked to death. Quite possibly, he almost was. He heard Jadzia continue to giggle. He looked up through tear clouded eyes to see her smile. It was almost worth the suffering. Almost. “Please tell me he’s not serving this to anyone else.”

“I don’t think he is,” Jadzia said.

“Good.” Julian picked up his own drink – something tamer and far less rancid. “I’d rather not have an influx of patients today.”

“I’ll let him know,” Jadzia said as Julian downed the rest of his drink. It cleansed his palate, but not enough. He needed something else. Water. Yes, that. It only took a second for a glass of water to appear in front of him. He stared at it, stared at the waiter who brought it over, watched the disappear, and then looked at Jadzia.

“I’m cruel, but I’m not that cruel,” Jadzia said. Julian smiled at her.

“I appreciate that.”

He downed the water.


	39. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, original character
> 
> Family cuteness!
> 
> Prompt: _could u write some fluffy parent garashir with maybe an adopted human kid who's a little disabled like Julian was before being genetically enhanced_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153253085233/i-dont-know-if-youre-taking-prompts-right-now)]

Cardassia, Garak’s Cardassia, was in shambles. Gone. Dust. Yes, dust. He thought about going back to help rebuild, but there was no point. Not anymore. Despite their ties to the planet, many Cardassians abandoned Cardassia Prime for lives off the planet’s surface. A saving grace, considering the Federation all but destroying it in a brutal attempt to clear away the Dominion. It was at the request of the acting Cardassian government. Garak hated them for it, but not the Federation. He couldn’t quite get himself to. Not when it had gifted him such a delightful life now.

Each morning for years, Garak woke up on Deep Space Nine to a warm similar to but unlike the Cardassian nights. He always snuggled close to it, always let his nose brush through the ray-like hairs that started to gray as the years drifted by. The human man responsible for the warmth and rays always, in some form, moaned and leaned into him. That morning, it was soft, unconscious. Julian was still asleep then. Fortunate. It meant Garak could revel in the early morning heat of their bed for just a little while longer. He closed his eyes and let his aging hands relax against the blue and white pajama fabric that regularly covered Julian’s body in the twilight hours.

Garak’s alertness hadn’t gone unnoticed, though. It never did.

Small hands and a tiny body crawled it’s way onto the bed. Garak opened his eyes and peered at the small boy, the human child, and watched as he scampered up his side and laid across his ribs, his large, blue eyes open and alert. Garak offered him a smile, removed one arm from Julian, and wrapped it around the boy’s small frame.

“Good morning, Ethan,” Garak whispered.

“Hi,” Ethan responded. There were no other greetings in the young boy’s vocabulary. A normalcy, Julian said. The boy was five but had a condition called autism. Garak wasn’t familiar, but Julian insisted it wouldn’t be problematic. Social settings and developmental skills could be issues, and grasping some simply concepts might be out of his reach, but he would have something to contribute to at least their family; Julian was sure of it. Garak wasn’t sure Julian knew how right he was.

“Julian’s not awake yet,” Garak whispered.

Ethan’s eyes moved to Julian and somehow retained their wide innocence. They, then, flicked back to Garak.

“Food?”

Breakfast. The thought caused Garak’s stomach to nearly roar. Ethan’s eyes shot towards the source as his mouth slacked open. A hand tentatively pushed down towards the noise and pulled the comforter between Garak and Julian. Garak allowed it as those tiny fingers pressed against Garak’s mid-torso.

“That was my stomach,” Garak whispered.

“Monster,” the boy said. He didn’t seem frightened about the concept. No doubt Julian’s evening storytelling made Ethan believe he could take on the darkest beasts. Garak cracked a smile.

“No, stomach.”

“Monster.”

Garak slowly pulled the comforter away and revealed nothing but his cloth covered torso. He watched Ethan blink, tilt his head, and then rummage that small hand across his stomach in fast, rhythmic paces. At first, it appeared Ethan was looking for the self-proclaimed beast. Then, after a few brushes, something washed over the boy’s face. Comfort, contentment. It was the same face Ethan got when he pushed his hands into the rainbow bubble baths that Julian made for him. Ethan shifted on Garak’s side, put his legs against Garak’s back and rubbed both arms back and forth against Garak’s torso. The small fingers rubbed against Julian’s back as well, which caused the man to wake and peer over his shoulder, brown eyes squinting.

“He likes it,” Garak said. Those brown eyes met his. A softness reached them. Then Julian turned and faced them. One of the man’s lanky arms reached and brushed some black strands of wavy hair away from Ethan’s face.

“What do you like about it, Ethan?” Julian asked.

“It’s soft.”

A fair assessment. Garak pictured a similar fabric stored in his shop, just below some reams of Andorian silk. The two of them had talked about making Ethan a stuffed toy, something reminiscent of Julian’s beloved bear. Perhaps that was the fabric for it. After all, he could never outgrow a toy like he would outgrow clothes. Julian’s gaze met with his. There was a silent agreement. Garak would start it immediately.

“He came in here and asked for breakfast,” Garak said.

“I guess we better get up, then.”

They exchanged a kiss. Julian placed one on the crown of Ethan’s head as well before easing out of the bed and taking his warmth with him. He didn’t, however, take Ethan’s, who remained sprawled across Garak’s side as Julian prepared for the day ahead. Normally, Garak would have guided Ethan into the main room of their quarters and given Ethan his usual breakfast but for the moment he was content watching the boy and his sensory joy. It was a break from the norm, yes, but it made for a rather pleasant memory he could now add to his visions of home.


	40. Like The Old Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Odo, original characters (nursing staff)
> 
> Violence, mob violence, blood, blatant Beauty and the Beast rip-off.
> 
> Prompt: _Something crazy is happening on DS9, probably some kind of disturbance from the wormhole, and somehow the overly religious bajorans are blaming it on Garak being on the station. It is during a mob attack on the Cardassian that Julian realizes his true feelings too late. (AKA-- I honestly just through the ending of Beauty and the Beast at you.)_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153275992563/garashir-prompt-something-crazy-is-happening-on)]

“The Cardassians upset the Prophets.”

Julian heard the Bajorans whisper that, and variations of it, across the promenade in pockets. He paid no mind. Anytime something happened on the station it was either in the hands or the Prophets or someone’s fault to some degree or another. The Federation was even blamed on a few instances. And with the wormhole in a constant open state and the edges of it beginning to fray, Julian knew something like this was bound to come up. It hardly merited much of a thought.

But as the day pressed on at the officers in ops recovered no answers for the strange phenomenon, Julian could hear the whispers become louder and louder. A few of the nurses in the infirmary commented on the growing belligerence and the increase in people that began to accumulate. Julian stared out at the promenade with growing anticipation of his own. Having them gather wasn’t a problem – if it was, Odo was likely to fix it – but there was something about the situation that just didn’t sit right with him. They were too loud, too restless, too unpredictable. He asked the nurses to prepare for any injuries and inventory their supplies, just in case.

The crowd moved after a short time and headed down the promenade. Julian watched them leave. He should’ve been thankful that they weren’t hovering near the infirmary but something about their walks, their words, their loudness marked an intent far too dark to be normal. Luckily, station security was following them. Good. At least they were aware.

Julian walked over to the main console and tried to busy himself. His thoughts, however, were on the mob, the growing restlessness, the wormhole. How long until it was fixed? How long until things settled again? How long until–

“Odo to Doctor Bashir.”

The changeling’s voice was stoic but he knew that if Odo was calling him, someone had gotten hurt.

“Go ahead.”

“I need you to come to Garak’s shop immediately. A mob of Bajorans came and attacked him because they believe the Prophets are angry about his presence on the station.”

Julian’s heart seized. His mouth opened. No words escaped. He grabbed a med-kit and finally forced his voice to say, “I’ll be right there,” before bolting from the infirmary.

He ran. It wasn’t unusual for Julian to run to an emergency but this was different. This was Garak, his longtime friend and lunch companion. Sure, he’d dealt with other serious injuries and moments before with others on the station but this was his friend. Like O’Brien. Yes, like O’Brien.

No. Not like O’Brien.

There was something else that lingered against his heart, something tangible, and yet for months, for years, it had no name, no sound, no bearing on his day-to-day experiences. He thought it was a friendly affection but with controlled panic surging through him, Julian understood. It wasn’t friendship. It was never friendship. Ever since the Cardassian’s hand touched his shoulder at their first meeting, it quit being about friendship. It wasn’t a platonic connection he wanted. No. It never had been.

Julian skidding against shoulders of Bajorans before he realized he’d made it to the mob. No hands reached out to him, no words were directed at him – both were directed towards the security that held them back and the Cardassian who Julian finally saw lying in the pool of his own blood with closed eyes and ragged breaths. Security let Julian through without a fight.

With quick but steady hands, Julian opened the med-kit, pulled out a medical tricorder, and scanned Garak’s body. His lungs, stomach, and heart were damaged. There was internal and external bleeding. Clearly a knife had been involved in the incident. The blood poured from several deep stab wounds that were littered across the man’s torso. He wasn’t conscious. He was barely breathing. Julian pressed his comm-badge with an intensity that likely bruised his chest.

“Bashir to ops,” he said, placing his hand on Garak, “Two to transport to the infirmary immediately.”

There were cries around him from the Bajoran mob. They were livid. But the cries died out as the surroundings of the infirmary appeared around him. Nurses came over immediately.

“Close the infirmary doors,” Julian said as they placed Garak onto one of the beds, “I want two of you outside but keep your distance. Don’t interfere, just be there to help if there are injuries. I need a dermal regenerator immediately.”

The nurses scattered around him. He heard the infirmary doors close. It didn’t hold back the angry cries of Bajorans, who walked onto the promenade with a fury that mirrored Julian’s own. He tried to quell his as his fingers worked to identify what areas needed the most work. However, the medical readings cried out as Garak’s body began to give, to crumble, to drift away. His heart stopped and his lungs went with it. No. No.

“Give me a cardiostimulator. Now!”

One was practically thrown into his hand. He placed it against Garak’s chest and set it off. Pause. Nothing. Again. Pause. Nothing. A third time. Nothing. A forth. A fifth. A sixth. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

He was gone.

Julian stared at Garak’s face. He looked peaceful. He would. He was probably delighted that something finally broke Julian’s optimism and his Federation heart. It was then, and only then, that he finally lost his professional air. He leaned over Garak’s body and sobbed. It lacked any bit of grace. He didn’t care. The nurses around him clearly didn’t either. A hand, so gentle, rubbed against his back in even, smooth strokes. No one in the infirmary spoke. Not one word.

Then a beep. Another. Another. A rhythm. More than. A heart.

Julian blinked, eased, leaned up, and opened his eyes. Garak was breathing. _Garak was breathing_.

“Doctor,” a nurse said. Julian stepped away from the bed. Immediately, the nurse took control. He would have, could have, but everyone in the room knew he was far too emotionally attached. Slowly, steadily, Julian eased to the main console, sat, and waited. It felt like hours, almost days, but finally they were done. The Bajoran nurse who commanded the team walked over to him.

“He’ll be fine,” she said. Julian sighed. “We can keep this between us. The breakdown, I mean.”

“No, it’s alright,” Julian said, “Besides, I’d like to write you and the rest of the time an exemplary report. You deserve it.”

The nurse smiled in her own polite way. Julian smiled in return and looked towards Garak. The Cardassian was still asleep, but from there, it was clear his respiration rate was perfectly fine. He’d check it in a few moments. His mind still wanted to roll over the events. The cardiostimulator didn’t work. Garak shouldn’t be alive. Really. But he was. A medical miracle if Julian ever heard of one. But what caused it? Surely not his crying, his tears. No. Couldn’t be.

“You know,” one of the Starfleet doctors said, gathering Julian’s wandering attention. Julian looked over. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was straight out of Beauty and the Beast.”

“What’s that?” the Bajoran nurse asked.

“An old fairy tale from Earth. I bet I could get my hands on a copy. It’s a great read.”

A great read. Julian stood and walked to Garak’s bed. He looked down at that resting face. He looked peaceful. Not a shard of beast to be seen. At least, not in Julian’s loving eyes.


	41. A Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: _can you do a garashir post canon piece where they're older, living on cardassia and having a birthday party for Garak (by older I mean like brand new grandpa age)_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153279888413/can-you-do-a-garashir-post-canon-piece-where)]

Garak woke up late. He knew it immediately when he opened his eyes. The rays of the sun were far too bright even through the slatted blinds. Still, he considered falling back to sleep. It was calm, near serene, and there were days in his past he longed for similar tranquility so his scattered mind could rest if only for a few seconds. Part of him wanted to ease into a restful state to make up for all those troublesome times. Yet, trouble rose in his mind.

His house was quiet.

Although there were only three generations living in the home, any quiet was suspicious. Even at night Garak could hear the adult whispers of he and Julian’s Cardassian children or their only granddaughter crying, being fed, or being hummed to sleep. Mid-morning, the house should be filled with laughter and cheers, mostly perpetrated by his human husband who delighted in the docile family home when his medicinal hands weren’t required.

Garak climbed out of bed, put on his thin robe to cover his pajamas, and walked into the hall. His feet were the only sounds for a while. Then there was shushes, hushes, and whispered. He couldn’t make out the words but he was certain they were all sounds of his family. Whether it was Julian or one of their seven children, Garak couldn’t be sure, but he was intent on finding out.

He cut into the sitting room. No one. He paused, scanned, and moved onto the dining room. Before he even entered the archway, he felt eyes on him. Stares. Years away from Obsidian Order work and that feeling was always the same. Only, he felt no malice towards these eyes, no ill-will or bad intent. Only kindness. He didn’t hesitate to enter the archway. Immediately, figured popped up from behind chairs and around the kitchen archway which was just across the room.

“Happy birthday!”

There was cheers, clapping. Familiar faces were all around him. Family, mostly, but other Cardassians and a few others, some of whom graced the promenade during his time on Deep Space Nine. Garak smiled. Physical contact soon followed. Four of his children hugged him immediately. The three others joined in. Then they were surrounded by all the other guests, aside from Julian who had their granddaughter tucked safely in his arms. The crowd dispersed, Garak said his ‘hello’s to the familiar yet distant faces, and then worked his way over to Julian.

“My dear, how long have you been keeping this arrangement from me?” Garak asked.

“A few months,” Julian answered, “I honestly thought you would have found out.”

“I’m afraid I hadn’t. Old age must be starting to wear down my old spy skills.” A teasing tone marred his words. It didn’t take away from their shared joy.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Julian said.

A warm smile crossed Julian’s face. Garak peered down at the little Cardassian girl in his arms, who blinked up at Garak with wide, blue eyes. Innocent. Pure.

“Perhaps it is,” Garak answered. His eyes flicked back to Julian’s face. He closed the space between them and gave the man a gentle kiss. Then he looked towards the myriad of presents and food that people were bringing to the table. Gifts to commiserate years passed. What was wrapped and packaged didn’t matter. The best gifts were standing around him, loyal and true as ever.


	42. Paralytic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, Jadzia Dax, Benjamin Sisko
> 
> Near death, paralyzed body, struggling for air.
> 
> Prompt: _Garashir with Julian in danger and a bit of angst but a happy ending?_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153367768018/hello-i-love-your-drabble-series-and-was)]
> 
> This piece is 5,988 words long. I started writing and things got a little out of hand.

The runabout was sabotaged.

Garak was certain of that the moment the engines started to collapse. However, he hadn’t voiced it until the runabout had crash landed successfully – if such a thing could be deemed “successful” – on the scorching class L planet. Julian was far too busy determining escape options for their rather troublesome situation to care about Garak’s suspicions on the matter, not that it would have mattered; his dear doctor was far too optimistic for such thoughts. No doubt his report would classify the crash as an “unfortunate accident”. Even after these years together, there were some things about his darling that would never change.

“None of the communications devices are working,” Julian said from the command chair, perhaps in a rather feeble attempt to seer Garak’s mind from his suspicious resolve.

“Ah, another unfortunate circumstance,” Garak answered, “We’re having quite a large number of those, aren’t we, my dear?”

“Garak, you’re not helping.”

Garak could hear the strain in his dear doctor’s words and it caused him to pause. He was far too busy attempting to pick apart Julian’s optimism, but the truth of the matter was the man, though a decorated Starfleet officer, was likely as rattled about the situation as he was. Another time, then. Garak settled in the second cabin chair with a sigh and stared out at the tundra before them.

To say that this planet hospitable would’ve been a joke in human terms. The readings of the daytime weather were rather horrific. Even the hottest days on Cardassia didn’t quite match up to the current heat index. Garak could survive out in that, but he would also have to duck under the disjointed rocks that offered the only source of shade in order to help his body cool. Julian, on the other hand, was likely to die if he stayed out in that overbearing sun for far too long. Garak wasn’t entirely sure how long it would take for the human body to overheat, but it wasn’t something he wanted to test out. He was quite sure his doctor would agree. But with the communications system down in the runabout, staying and living wasn’t exactly a viable option.

Julian stood, moved to the back of the runabout, and opened the sole storage compartment.

“We’ll have to try and use the transceiver array,” Julian said as he pulled a rather bulky piece of machinery from the tiny space. It was around the side of the back of Garak’s chair, only it garnered far more width. He frowned as Julian fiddled with the dials on the back.

“Do you honestly believe that’s going to work?” Garak asked.

“We have to at least try it, Garak,” Julian said. He flipped a switch. Garak saw lights shine on the man’s tanned face. Well, it had power. That certainly was a start. But after a few more seconds of fiddling, Julian sighed and dropped his hands. “We have to get to higher ground.”

“Pardon?”

Julian looked at him.

“We’re in the middle of a dune and the array’s signal has been weakened. We have to get to higher ground so we can get the signal out.”

“You mean I need to get to higher ground, yes?” Garak asked. Julian blinked at him and straightened his back.

“No, we’re going together.”

Garak almost let his composure fall. Even though Julian had a rather brilliant genetically engineered mind, his heart likely dictated this course of action. Perhaps he hadn’t really thought through all of the options.

“My dear, you cannot possibly go out in that heat,” Garak said.

“Once the sun sets we can go,” Julian answered.

“Assuming the sun will stay set for long.”

“Even if it doesn’t, I can’t let you go out there alone. If you get hurt, you’re going to need a doctor.”

“And what if you get hurt?” Garak asked, “Or perhaps even fall unconscious? You may be qualified to offer help to me, but I’m afraid I cannot offer you the same assistance. It would be better if I went alone.”

“That’s not an option.”

“Really, my dear–”

“Garak, I’m going. Doctor’s orders.”

Garak wanted to continue this argument. He wanted Julian to give into common sense and stay on the shuttle. Surely the doctor know what Garak wouldn’t abandon him on the planet. They had just been going to Risa together. No doubt the man trusted him to some degree.

Really, though, Garak knew it wasn’t about a lack of trust. Julian was concerned. Rightfully so. If they were on a frozen tundra instead, Garak would have insisted on traveling with the good doctor, no matter what ailments might befall him. An emotional decision, perhaps, but nearly their entire relationship had been built on such decisions. Nothing to regret. Perhaps there would be nothing to regret here either. So, Garak let his stubborn resolve fall before he crossed behind Julian and pulled out the singular bag he’d packed for their trip.

“If you’re so insistent, at least wear this.” Garak retrieved some white and beige fabrics from the bag and handed them over. He watched Julian unfold and examine each piece as he kept talking. “One of your Earth languages called these pieces a thawb and an izaar. I’m to understand that they were traditional garments worn by men in the more arid climates of your home planet. They’re made out of a thin cotton I had special ordered. They should be more comfortable that your uniform at least.”

“That’s thoughtful, Garak, but… why were you looking up something like that?”

Julian’s eyes met his. Garak could lie. In fact, he had thought up one that he would have delighted in sharing with the man on Risa – a history study of clothes in order to study his human clientele. Julian would believe such a thing. But at that moment, with unsaid concerns ringing about them, the thought the truth would bring a little ease between them.

“I ordered a romantic holosuite program that’s based on an ancient time in your Earth history,” Garak answered, “The program takes place in one of those desert areas and I thought this outfit would make the situation a little more realistic. I do know how you love immersing yourself in those worlds of yours.”

Julian’s eyes widened.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not, I assure you.”

A smile blossomed on the man’s face and he flung himself into Garak’s arms. A kiss was exchanged, and then another, before Julian, in a rather excitable fit, changed his clothes. The outfit was far more flattering than the uniform had been, but it hardly measured up to the doctor’s natural charm. Still, it would protect him from the heat, Garak hoped, and for the moment, that was good enough.

They spent the rest of the sunlight exchanging conversation and gathering supplies. Water bottles, some food rations, and a med-kit were thrust into Garak’s bag, which was emptied save for the supplies that they needed. Julian carried that. Garak opted to carry the transceiver array on his back and gave the doctor no room to argue about it. The supplies were lighter and Garak could handle the weight of the array in the heated climate. Julian might not be so lucky. The less physical exertion he had to face, the better.

Once the sun dipped over the horizon and starred sky crept across the sky, Garak stepped from the runabout.

The temperature dipped low enough to remind Garak of rather mild Cardassian days where the breeze drifted in and brushed along buildings and faces with a mother’s gentle touch. Garak imagined Julian would still find the climate uncomfortable, but he hoped the outfit would make the trip more bearable. If it didn’t, Julian didn’t voice his opinion on the matter. In fact, the two of them didn’t speak at all as they headed for a nearby rock facing that towered not far from their crash site. Julian’s choice. Even though they had plenty of water, speaking would dry their mouths out faster and Julian didn’t want to risk running out of supplies. It seemed fair, though Garak doubted it would take too long to reach the top of the cliff.

They climbed about one-third of the way when the sun threatened to make it’s appearance. Garak searched and found a small cave inlet that gave them both plenty of shade if they both tucked into the back of it. A small miracle. Garak cut towards it and Julian followed. They ducked inside. It was then that Garak finally got a good look at his doctor.

Julian looked quite well off. Although a smile wasn’t pulling at the corners of his lips, a light did linger in his eyes that bore his determination and steady resolve. Garak was happy to see it.

“I hope those clothes weren’t too uncomfortable,” Garak said as he shrugged the transceiver array.

“Not at all. They’re quite nice, actually.” Julian sat down against the back wall just out of the corner of Garak’s right eye. He could see the doctor rummaging through the supplies bag.

“An improvement to the uniform, then?”

“To you, everything’s an improvement to my uniform.”

“Perhaps.”

Garak moved to sit down next to Julian. The doctor shifted over enough to give him some space. A moment later, Julian’s right leg recoiled away from something and he yelped. Garak searched for other movement. He didn’t see anything.

“My dear, what happened?” he asked.

Julian pulled up the fabric and revealed his right ankle. A black barb of some kind was jutting out of it. It couldn’t have been any larger than a sewing needle, yet it ushered far more than a surprised scream from Julian. Garak moved to Julian’s feet to get a better look as his doctor pulled the med-kid from their supplies and opened it.

“An insect?” Garak asked.

“I can’t be sure,” Julian said, scanning the wound and the barb sticking out of it, “It did come from a living organism of some kind but I don’t think there’s enough information even on the station to tell us what exactly it was. The good news is there’s no serious damage. I should be able to pull it out and heal it up without a problem.”

Julian reached down and plucked the spine from his skin. A speck of blood oozed from the open flesh. Garak watched the doctor’s deft hands work a dermal regenerator over the wound and patch his skin together. As if to demonstrate the lack of issues, Julian rotated his foot around.

“Good as new.”

Garak let himself relax. He eased over to Julian’s left side again and sat down, fully protected in the shade. Julian handed over a bottle of water and some food rations. They talked about the rations, about Julian’s experiments designing a candy bar that tasted better yet allotted the same effects, Garak offered to try it if the good doctor should ever try to design one again, and then their conversation moved to a tired silence. The shade offered enough protection from the heat to create an arid, yet comforting space for Garak. Julian likely didn’t feel the same way. Yet, the doctor still leaned his head against Garak’s shoulder and fell asleep without so much as a “good day”. Garak didn’t blame him. In fact, he nodded off as well.

A light beeping woke Garak up. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but looking out the cave mouth told him that the sun had drifted to the other side of the sky. Despite the kink in his neck, he felt rested enough and didn’t let himself fall back into a slumbering state. Garak lifted his head from where it had fallen – on Julian’s shoulder.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Julian said. His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it that Garak didn’t care for. Garak peered at the doctor’s face. Those brown eyes Garak grew to love weren’t focused on him. They were staring down at a tricorder which Julian had pointed at the supposedly insect bit leg.

“It’s quite alright,” Garak said, his eyes focused on the doctor’s hands, “Is something the matter?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I can’t flex my right ankle or bend my right knee.”

Garak frowned and edged closer.

“Your entire right leg is paralyzed then?”

“No, I can still move my leg at the hip.” Julian shifted his leg to iterate his point. “I just can’t bend my knee or ankle without help.”

“A side effect of the sting?” Garak asked.

“It must be, though I’m not getting any readings that suggest that a paralytic was introduced to my system.”

After a few minutes, Julian sighed and rested his head back against the wall. His eyes flicked over. Garak met his gaze.

“I guess you’re going to get what you want,” Julian said.

“I beg your pardon?” Garak asked.

“I have to stay behind now. I can’t walk.”

“Oh, I’m afraid it’s far too late for that.”

“Garak–”

“No, my dear, you insisted on coming along, so I will be taking you with me.”

“You can’t carry me and the transceiver array.”

“After all these years of seeing what I can do, you doubt that I could handle this situation? Clearly I have yet to show you what I’m physically capable of. A demonstration is in order, then.”

“Now’s not the time for–”

Garak put up his hand to silence Julian’s words.

“I’m afraid it’s tailor’s orders this time, my dear.”

“That’s not a thing, Garak.”

“Then I must make it one, at least for the time being.”

And that was the end of the argument. Julian insisted on Garak eating and drinking his fill before the sun set, since he was going to be carrying more than just the array this time around. Garak filled himself until Julian was content. Then, as the sky darkened to an acceptable hue, Garak put the transceiver on his back, instructed Julian to put the supply back across his lap, and scooped up Julian princess style, which is knees over one arm and his shoulders on the other. Julian eased the load by wrapping his arms around Garak’s shoulders and holding himself up. Tufts of brown hair brushed against Garak’s jaw as he walked up the cliff.

It was windier and a bit cooler that night. Garak was grateful. Although Julian’s warmth would normally be a comfort, his heat in combination with the hot climate was rather discomforting. The brushes of wind and the lightness of Julian’s clothes created a natural cold that eased the scorching waves. No doubt Julian felt the same way.

Garak could tell they didn’t make as much progress when the sun started to rise. It was still possible to get to the cliff top during the next night, but Garak knew he’d have to exert himself to get there. He hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.

After a few minutes of searching, Garak found a rather small covering. It wasn’t nearly as big as the cave they had stopped it and Garak wondered if it would even fully protected them from the sun as he walked under it. He checked for anything that might bite before placing Julian down.

“You need water,” Julian said. Garak heard the shuffling of the supply bag, but he paid no mind to it. He shrugged off the transceiver, placed it on the ground, and began to fiddle with the dials. There was no message getting past the atmosphere still. It was close, though. A little higher and they should have it. Maybe they wouldn’t even have to get to the top. It would improve the odds of someone receiving their message if they did, however. Garak had no intention of changing their plans.

A bottle bumped into his arm. Garak looked at it before glancing at the face responsible for the contact. Julian offered him a smile.

“Drink. Doctor’s orders.”

Garak didn’t argue. He settled next to Julian, opened the bottle, and downed the contents. Julian handed him another one but Garak waved it away.

“I’ll save that one for the morning,” Garak said.

“There are four others.”

“Yes, but we don’t know how long it will be before our message is received, my dear,” Garak said.

“Then we’ll share it,” Julian said, “We both need to eat anyway. We’ll have to wash down these terrible rations with something.”

Julian fished out two food rations bars and handed one to Garak, which he took without argument. He even opened it while Julian set the bag aside. Garak felt Julian shift next to him and then freeze. Garak peered over. Julian’s eyes were focused on his own legs.

“What wrong, my dear?”

“I can’t move either of my legs.”

Panic welled inside of Garak’s chest. He did his best not to show it. It wouldn’t do either of them any good if he allowed his panic to steer his actions or words.

“It’s spread,” was all Garak managed to say. It was far too stoic as well. Julian either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He was far too busy fishing out the med-kit from the supplies. He pulled out that medical tricorder again and scanned over his body. Julian shook his head.

“I’m still not getting any unusual readings.”

Garak watched the man’s expression shift to one of grave concern. It only took Garak a moment to decide on an action. He climbed to his feet and hoisted the transceiver onto his back.

“Garak? What are you doing?”

“I’m going to ascent the cliff and find a suitable place for the transceiver.”

“But the heat–”

“I’m well aware of the dangerous, my dear, but it must be done. We don’t know how far that paralyzing effect will spread and we can’t risk any more delays.” Garak leaned down and planted a kiss on the man’s forehead. “Once I have a suitable place for the transceiver, I’ll return to you.”

Garak turned and headed out of the shade.

“Wait,” Julian called. Garak looked back. The doctor held out water and the food rations that Garak had opened. “At least take these with you.”

Garak came back and plucked them from the doctor’s hands.

“Please be careful,” Julian said.

“For you, I will,” Garak answered. Julian smiled softly. It was a forced, fragile thing. Garak kissed him again, this time on the lips, before departing.

The heat of the sun was far more searing that Garak expected it to be. He ducked under shade at every chance to ensure he wouldn’t over heat. At intervals under chosen spots, he took off the transceiver and checked the signal. For several hours, nothing changed. He was simply too far out of reach. All the while, he only sipped at the water and didn’t dare touch the food. Not yet. He could hold out until the transceiver was set up.

He was almost at the cliff top when signal from the transceiver finally started to break through the atmosphere. Because of that, Garak decided to place it securely at the top. He patched it to only send out a Federation signal and input Julian’s coordinates from the man’s medical equipment with instructions to wait until sundown before beaming them out. It would give him just enough time to slip back into the cave and back at Julian’s side. He ducked under some shade, scarfed down the rations, and then made his way back to Julian without hesitation.

By the time he arrived, it was mid-evening. Though the sun was starting to dip, the sky was still painted the same daytime yellow that surrounded him during his trip up the cliff. Slipping into Julian’s shade was pleasant, but only for a moment.

The doctor’s breathing sounded strange.

Garak approached. Julian lay on his back and was taking slow, forced breaths. His eyes were closed, his mouth open.

“Julian?”

Julian’s eyes opened.

“Garak,” Julian said. A smile didn’t flick across his lips. “Did you set up the transceiver?”

“Yes. It’s at the top of the cliff. I input your coordinates so they would know where to find us.” Garak waited for the smile to arise. It didn’t. Only another forced, slow breath.

“The paralytic… it’s effecting my lungs.”

Garak was glad he took the initiative to go up the rest of the cliff on his own. He sat at Julian’s side and ran his hand through the doctor’s hair. It felt oilier than normal but Garak didn’t let it bother him.

“How long do you believe it will be before your lungs begin to fail entirely?” Garak asked. Normally he wouldn’t have bothered with such a question, but they were waiting on the sun, assuming that the Defiant was stationed outside the planet, of course.

“A few hours,” Julian answered.

That was cutting it close. Garak ran his fingers through Julian’s hair again.

“I had asked them to wait until sundown to beam us both out,” Garak answered, “Do you think you can survive that long?”

“As long as you don’t… take my breath away,” Julian said. A smile finally touched his face. Garak was happy to see it, even if it only arrived because of the good man’s rather terrible sense of humor. But, to keep face, Garak offered a sigh which only made Julian smile more.

Garak offered less comedic conversation during the next couple hours. He had to take up most of the words, as Julian’s focus was on his breathing and talking became more and more difficult as time went on. In the later minutes, Julian’s eyes drifted to the sky behind Garak, to the shifting colors that Garak dared not look at himself. But with each flick of Julian’s eyes, he could tell the man was getting more and more desperate. It was too late to go back to the transceiver and change the message. He had to hold out. Garak hoped his words were enough for the good doctor to cling to. For a while, it looked like it would be.

Then Julian’s breath hitched.

Garak watched the man’s eyes close as a harsh, forced breath surged through his body, then another, then another, but each one was accompanied with a wheeze. Julian’s mouth opened wider. It didn’t help.

Garak shifted to his knees and brought his face to Julian’s. His hands fell to the man’s chest with an ease and began to rub along Julian’s ribs. Frantic, human hands clambered and clasped onto the fabric of his shirt. Julian’s eyes fluttered opened. Tears glazed them over.

“Relax, my dear,” Garak said, his voice steady despite his racing heart.

“I… I don’t–”

Julian’s voice was croaked, soft, dying. The last words never escaped. Part of Garak felt relieved. Though the doctor’s wants were important to him, he didn’t wish for Julian to voice them; not when all of these could have been avoided if Garak had been a little more firm on leaving Julian at the shuttle. He could feel his own heart thundering his chest but he ignored it for the doctor’s sake. Whatever ache he felt was secondary for the moment.

“It’s alright,” Garak said, “Relax and try your best to breathe. A few more moments may be all that we require.”

Garak rubbed his thumbs against Julian’s ribs for emphasis. Julian eased, if only a little, tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and let out struggling, wheezing breaths. The doctor’s fingers, however, never unfurled or loosened. Garak watched for a moment and wondered if he should allow the moment to continue with silence. In all the times he’d seen people die, especially his fellow Cardassians, Garak held no interest in maintaining conversation. He was there, a presence, to see their passing. That was all. Yet, with Julian, this matter was different. Julian wasn’t just another being he passed by on the station. Julian was his love, his light, his joy; the only person that he dared spill any secrets to, even if the dear doctor believed they were lies. This man was a confidant, a friend, a lover and, at this moment, Garak knew Julian was the only man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

And now he was losing him.

Perhaps knowing that would allow the doctor to hang on.

“I believe we should go through an enjoinment,” Garak said. The words came without a filter. Julian didn’t respond with words or eyes, but the fingers against his arms twitched, “With all the Cardassian literature we’ve read, I believe you are quite familiar with the term. I believe I could make you a rather nice suit. A tunic, perhaps. Once that combines your rather bland Earth fashion with some more suiting Cardassian ones. Though, if we were to discuss the matter fully, I believe some human customs could be added to our ceremony. A blending of cultures. I’m quite certain Captain Sisko would officiate the wedding, if you wished him to. Ah, and perhaps Constable Odo would be my, what does your culture call it? A best man? Yes, I believe that’s the term.”

A tear slipped from Julian’s eye. His fingers tightened. Garak shifted his hands up Julian’s sides to his chest. He felt the doctor’s pounding heart. Such a fragile thing. In another time, Garak would have gladly stopped it for him. Now, though, Garak wanted anything but that.

“Don’t cry, my dear,” Garak whispered, “It’ll happen. Once we arrive at the station, I will go through one of those ridiculous proposals and even present you with a ring, if that’s what you wish. Such a tradition isn’t normal on Cardassia Prime or Bajor, I’m afraid, so I would have to order a ring from your home planet. I’m quite certain Captain Sisko would be willing to help me with the matter.”

Julian’s breath hitched. His brow furrowed. More tears fell. Garak kissed Julian on the forehead.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” Garak whispered, “I had not realized my sentiment would make this more difficult for you.”

Garak lifted his head, but Julian’s followed it. The doctor’s nose brushed against his. Those brown eyes opened. Tears fell. Julian’s breathing hitched again as his head fell.

“I’m… sorry.”

Garak wasn’t sure what look exactly washed over his face, but he was quite certain it gave away the ache that reverberated through his own heart. Oh, such a gentle, pained voice that Julian spoke with; such agonizing tears that slipped free; and such a broken, revealing apology. Julian wasn’t upset because he might miss it. He wasn’t even upset that it would never come to pass. He was upset because, more than anything, his death meant Garak would be alone. And Garak could try to ease the doctor’s fears about the matter but the truth was there – Garak was alone without Julian. He always would be.

“Julian,” Garak whispered, “There will always be a place for you in my heart. I only ask that you try to stay so I may properly show you what that means.”

Julian closed his eyes. Another forced, rasped breath surged through him. He was trying. Good. Garak kissed the man on the forehead again and rubbed his thumb over the skin that covered Julian’s heart. Part of him wanted to continue conversation, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t taking everything he had not to unravel his emotions. So, he stayed quiet and continued to be a loving presence to the doctor and his failing body.

Then, Garak felt the familiar sensation of a transporter shifting him around. He appeared in a transporter room. Julian was still in his grasp. Figures approached. A medical tricorder cut into his vision.

“We believe some kind of creature on the surface stung him in his right ankle,” Garak said quickly and calmly, “It’s released some kind of unknown paralytic into his system. His lungs are failing.”

“We need to get him on life support,” a familiar voice said. Jadzia Dax. Yes, quite familiar, and a comfort to Garak’s fraying emotions. “Beam us straight to the infirmary.”

He wasn’t quite sure who Jadzia was talking to, but it didn’t matter. They were taken to the infirmary in less than a second. It only took one glance up for Garak to realize it was the infirmary of the Defiant. A saving grace. They would truly have all the medical equipment that they needed to save the doctor’s life, if such a thing were possible.

Under Jadzia’s instructions, Garak carried Julian to one of the bio-beds. He was hooked up to a life support system by a couple nurses who, then, took over Julian’s care. Garak was pulled aside by Jadzia and escorted out of the infirmary.

“Ben’s going to want a report on what happened,” she said.

“Another time, perhaps,” Garak answered.

“Garak,” Jadzia said. A cold hand touched Garak’s arm. “I know you want to be in there with Julian, but right now he’s in the best hands he can be. Hovering over the nurses will only make their jobs harder. Believe me, I’ve had seven lifetimes to go through similar experiences. Trying to write a report won’t make it easier, but it’ll make you feel like you’re doing something instead of waiting around.”

Jadzia handed over a writing PADD.

“If nothing else, try to get some of your feelings out.”

Garak took the PADD to prevent an argument. He wasn’t in the mood for such things. Jadzia took it as a win, no doubt, and left him alone in the hallway. No doubt other officers would be there to check on his progress. Garak peeked into the infirmary and watched the nurses work through the still open door. Then he eased in, let the door close behind him, and sat out of the way but within visual range. The nurses weren’t paying attention to him but Garak was still there, still present, so if something happened and the doctor’s entire body threatened to collapse, Garak would be there to say one final goodbye.

After sitting there for what felt like hours, Garak finally started working on the report, if only to pass the time. It was a bland, short-form version that would, no doubt, suffice for the time being. But the events were laid out clearly, at least. If Sisko wanted something longer and embellished, Garak would offer it another time.

When they arrived back on Deep Space Nine, Julian was transported straight to the station infirmary with the life support system still attached. The on-ship nurses were also transported with him. The option wasn’t offered to Garak, no doubt because the Captain commanded it. Garak wasn’t family, after all. Not yet. And, likely, Captain Sisko wanted to talk with him about loss and hope and other the other Federation pleasantries that the staff believed drifted over his head. And when Sisko was waiting for him outside the airlock, Garak knew it was coming.

“I’m going to the infirmary to get an update on Doctor Bashir,” Sisko said, “I thought you’d like to join me.”

Ever the considerate one. Garak was aware he couldn’t get such information on his own. So, he accepted the invitation with a silent nod. They walked side by side down the corridor and towards the turbolift. Despite the senior staff being aboard the Defiant, the two of them were completely alone. Before Sisko could start his, “I understand,” banter, Garak interjected with the truth.

“I suggested to the good doctor that he and I should go through an enjoinment,” Garak said. He could feel Sisko’s gaze on him.

“A Cardassian marriage?”

“If that’s what you wish to call it.” Garak paused. “I suspected that he would say ‘yes’ to such a thing, but I’m afraid it had not occurred to me to ask until his mortality was rather apparent.”

Silence. Garak handed the PADD over as they reached the outside of the turbolift.

“My report. I’m afraid it’s not as colorful as others have been.”

Sisko took it.

“This is new to you, isn’t it?” Sisko asked, “Being this close to someone.”

“I had hoped such an occurrence would never happen,” Garak answered, “But the dear doctor has a charm that even I can’t sway from, I’m afraid.”

“A lot of us can agree with that,” Sisko said. The lift door opened. They stepped inside. “We’re all holding out hope he’ll be alright.”

The rest of their trip went on in silence. They arrived at the infirmary where Sisko asked for an update. A Bajoran nurse stepped aside and told them that they had isolated the paralytic and they were creating an antidote. They had Julian’s body in a life support chamber tucked in a backroom. He was, currently, in a dream-like state, as neurostimulators began necessary to keep his brain alive. They suspected, if the antidote worked correctly, that Julian would be conscious and able to move again in less than twenty-six hours. If not, the life support system would allow them to try as many times as was necessary.

“We’re lucky you were there,” she said, giving Garak a smile, “He wouldn’t have lived if he was there alone.”

A rather delightful sentiment, but sorely misplaced. Garak asked if he could bring by one of Julian’s personal belongings instead of acknowledging the nurse’s words. She said if it was small, they could allow it. With a gentle ‘thank you’ to both Sisko and the nurse, Garak retreated to Julian’s quarters, picked up the doctor’s prized bear, and brought it to the infirmary. The same nurse nearly cooed over Kukalaka before Garak asked to be informed as to when he could visit the dear doctor. He then departed for his own quarters.

Garak managed to sleep a little, though that rest of fitful and nightmare filled. He opted for reading, though it only took his mind away for jarring spaces of time. Nothing settled right with him, not even his old favorites. But around twenty hours after he’d left the dear doctor in the infirmary, he received a communication from a nurse saying that Julian wanted to see him. Garak practically ran to the infirmary.

A nurse told him that Julian would be fine. The effects of the paralytic were still wearing off, so his legs weren’t functioning still, but everything else was back to where it should be. Garak was, then, escorted to the back where Julian was sitting up with Kukalaka in his arms.

“There you are,” Julian said with a smile, “I’m surprised you weren’t hovering around the infirmary.”

“Lieutenant Dax suggested I keep my distance so your nurses could focus on helping you,” Garak answered, taking a seat next to Julian’s temporary bed, “I was quite inclined to agree with her.”

“But you didn’t take that time to take care of yourself,” Julian said. The doctor reached and brushed his hand through Garak’s hair. He was warm. Garak almost nuzzled into his touch.

“I’m afraid my thoughts were elsewhere.”

“On me.”

“If you wish me to be so direct about the matter, yes, my thoughts were focused on you.”

Julian’s smile lingered a moment longer before it slowly faded.

“I really am sorry, Garak,” Julian said, “If I hadn’t been so insistent on going, none of this would have happened.”

“You’re quite right,” Garak said, “But I likely also would not have been so clear about my sentiment, of which I meant every word of, my dear.”

“I know you meant it.”

“Oh, you do?” Garak said, “And why are you so certain about that.”

“Because you called me ‘Julian’.”

Garak smiled softly.

“Would you like a ring?”

“A wedding band would be better,” Julian said, “We can just skip the entire engagement process.”

“If that’s what you want, my dear Julian.”

“It is.”

They shared a smile and a kiss.


	43. Pillows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> No warnings. Established Garashir.
> 
> Prompt: _fluffy on station married garashir_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153464171208/and-i-dont-know-if-were-allowed-to-request-two)]

“My dear,” Garak said, “I believe this may have gotten a little… out of hand.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s nice,” Julian responded. Garak didn’t have to look at his dear doctor’s face to know the man was sporting one of his usual, bright smiles. He could hear it in the man’s voice. A rather good thing, since the wall of boxes on their kitchen table prevented any view he would have of Julian or that smile.

“We don’t even know if the items will be useful.”

“It’s not about use, Garak,” Julian said, “It’s about thought. My relatives and friends on Earth are happy about our marriage so they send gifts. It’s a tradition that humans have had for years.”

Ah, traditions. They had spent the last several weeks following tradition, in terms of their enjoinment and subsequent ‘sharing of vows’ during their wedding ceremony. They had even gone to Risa for a traditional honeymoon period that Garak was almost certain Julian had lied about until Captain Sisko informed him that going to honeymoons was actually quite common for newlywed couples and even spouted off comments about his own. An interesting, and very delightful, tradition that Garak was quite happy to abide by. But this giving of gifts was a bit absurd. Although Julian had mentioned they were likely to have gifts when they returned to the station, the mountain of boxes and other wrapped goods would have tipped him towards feeling claustrophobic if they hadn’t moved to larger quarters just before their trip.

Garak opted for staying on the couch as Julian moved all the gifts to the floor, sat cross-legged, and started opening them one by one. Admittedly, some of the presents were quite useful. Someone, a friend from Starfleet medical, Julian said, even gifted them a rather nice electric blanket for Garak’s use, along with a myriad of other sheets and blankets. Although the colors were dull, Garak knew they would get used, at least by himself, and he found himself quickly enjoying this rather interesting tradition.

Then he saw Julian frown as he looked at one of the packages.

“Is something wrong, my dear?” Garak asked, his arms still full of folded bedding.

“It’s from my mother.”

Julian’s parents didn’t come to the wedding. His father was still serving time for the genetic engineering reveal and his mother didn’t want to visit the station without him. She insisted that they would take a trip to the station once he was released and would gladly welcome Garak into the family with a fantastic Earth meal. Julian dreaded the thought, much like he dreaded the contents of the package, no doubt, but Garak urged the young man to connect ties whenever possible. Family was family, even if it was a torn one.

“Ah, but it is the thought that counts, isn’t it?” Garak asked. Julian nodded and opened the package. Garak noticed Julian’s motions were hindered by his rather apparent hesitation. But once the flaps of the box were opened and he peered inside, Julian’s face returned to something rather bright and charming. He pulled a square pillow from it. Although the plum color was rather delightful, the fluffiness was far too much. Garak didn’t have to touch it to tell that it was one of those extravagant Earth things that Cardassians didn’t understand.

“Ah, more bedding,” Garak said.

“No, actually, these are decoration pillows. They go on the couch.”

Garak lifted his eyebrows.

“Really? And is decoration the only purpose they’re meant to serve?”

“Well, you can put your head and feet on them if you really want to,” Julian said with a shrug. There was a pause. “And they can be useful for… something else.” Garak watched a mischievous glint cross the doctor’s gaze.

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“This!”

Julian chucked the pillow. The soft form hit Garak square in the face and then fell with a rather unceremonious flop onto the bedding in his arms. Garak stared at it for a moment before looking at Julian again. The man was standing. Another pillow, no doubt from the box, was in his hand and the man looked like he was about to run for it. Yet, there was a playful smile tugging on his lips. Garak had seen that smile in private quite often and knew that a mood had arisen. It was one Garak was always pining for, even if he never voiced it.

Garak set the bedding aside with a gentle ease, pulled the pillow from the top of it, and stood as well, all without breaking eye contact with Julian.

“Are you quite certain you want to do this, my dear?” Garak asked.

Julian’s smile grew and his top teeth brushed against his bottom lip. He wiggled, leaned, and bolted across the main room towards the bedroom. Garak took cover behind the kitchen counter. He heard a distinct thump of Julian’s pillow hitting the wall. Garak above the counter. The pillow wasn’t far from him. Julian wasn’t anywhere near it. No doubt the doctor was taking cover behind the bedroom wall. Fishing him out, perhaps. There were other pillows in that room that could be used as viable ammo. Julian had considered that when he made his run. Garak hadn’t.

“You don’t expect me to retrieve that, do you?” Garak asked.

“Well, we can’t just leave it on the floor,” Julian called from the bedroom, “It was a gift from my mother.”

“Bringing your mother into this little game of ours will not sway my movements, my dear.”

“What’s the matter, Garak? You’re not afraid, are you?”

“Oh, hardly.”

“Then what is it?”

Garak saw a shift behind the wall. Julian’s body was peeking around. The genetic engineering would make him faster. Garak had to catch him unaware; that was the only option.

“I’m simply taking time to weigh my options.”

“This isn’t exactly a scenario for waiting, Garak.”

More of Julian’s body rounded the corner. His eyes were on the counter. Garak ducked behind it, ensuring the doctor couldn’t see his exact position.

“On the contrary, my dear,” Garak said, “There is a grace period that must be allotted before the climax of every battle. Rushing into a fight far too rapidly will only ensure a rather swift defeat. I assumed that your rather rigorous Starfleet training would have taught you such things.”

“I didn’t take many of the command courses.”

Julian’s voice was a little closer.

“A pity. Perhaps you should.”

“I’m not sure they’ll let me.”

Ah, even closer. He was heading for the counter, then. A rather straight forward approach. Garak should’ve been disappointed about that, but part of him was rather thrilled he knew the good doctor so well.

“It would not hurt to ask, at the very least.”

“I suppose not.”

At the start of the sentence, Garak popped around the counter and threw his pillow. It clashed with Julian’s face. In the split-second that Julian was stunned, Garak launched himself, wrapped his arms around Julian’s body, trapped the man’s arms against his sides, and carried the man to the bedroom. The motion was, first, accompanied by a yelp and then a rather bold, delightful laugh. Garak tossed Julian onto their bed and crawled on top of him. His left hand pushed onto Julian’s right arm, ensuring the doctor’s chosen ammo wasn’t used against him. Bright brown eyes met his gaze and a smile pulled at the corners of Julian’s lips.

“That wasn’t very fair,” Julian said.

“When have you ever known me to be fair, my dear husband?” Garak asked. Julian’s smile broadened.


	44. Fatherly Advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, Enabran Tain
> 
> Character death, fatherly figure death. Established Garashir.
> 
> Prompt: _could you maybe do something with tain finding out about garashir_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153465493968/hey-hey-could-you-maybe-do-something-with)]

Garak invited Julian to sit in on his conversation with Enabran because it was the only way Julian would know he wasn’t lying. Simply saying “Tain is my father” would hold no weight. There were too many lies in their past conversations for Julian to believe anything that Garak directly said. Garak didn’t mind. In fact, he rather liked that Julian questioned him. It allowed freedom from their relationship if Garak ever chose to extract himself from it. Sure, Julian’s heart would be broken over such a thing, but that was a part of life and the man would, no doubt, find love with someone else. Someone better.

Garak sat at Enabran’s side as Julian silently worked his way to a far bed. The room was small and allotted for movements to echo, but Cardassian hearing was rather poor and Enabran was in no state to hunt for such things. His vision was already gone. No doubt his hearing suffered as well.

Enabran greeted him with the “kill my enemies” speech that Garak expected. Garak gave his assurances but found himself rather irritated by the whole thing.

“Elim. Promise me one thing.”

Garak’s heart picked up a little. Perhaps this was it; the moment where they had the really ‘father connecting to son’ moment. Doubt swallowed that hope down, though, as he watched the man’s face. He wasn’t one for sentiment. Surely that wouldn’t start now.

“I’m listening.”

“Don’t die here. Escape. Live.”

Perhaps someone else would find that line rather sentimental, but not Garak. He knew better.

“Let me guess,” Garak said, his tone far too dry for his liking, “So I can make the Dominion pay for what they’ve done to you.”

“You wouldn’t deny an old man his revenge, would you?”

Of course. Garak was half-tempted to say that he would deny that, simply to spite him, but it wasn’t that simple. It was never that simple. Enabran was his father. He couldn’t simply deny him anything. He never had. He never will.

“I’ll do as you ask, on one condition,” Garak said, “That you don’t ask me this favor as a mentor, or a superior officer… but as a father asking his son.”

Garak was sure he could almost hear Julian gasp behind him.

“You’re not my son.”

For a second, just one, Garak could’ve strangled the man. Instead, he offered the most curt response he could muster without raising his voice.

“Father, you’re dying. For once in your life, speak the truth.”

“I should have killed your mother before you were born. You have always been a weakness I can’t afford.”

“So you’ve told me. Many times. Listen, Enabran. All I ask is that for this moment, let me be your son.”

Silence. Garak didn’t dare look away from Enabran’s face. He could tell the man didn’t want to give in and yet, somewhere beyond those unseeing eyes, he could see that the man was going to.

“Elim, that Doctor.”

Garak blinked. That wasn’t where he expected the conversation to go. To be honest, he wasn’t sure what to expect at all, but if he were to make a list of the matters Enabran would’ve addressed with him in a rather emotionally pressed moment, Julian Bashir would not have been on it.

“Doctor Bashir,” Garak said.

“Yes, Doctor Bashir,” Elim said, “He spoke of you fondly. I pressed him about the seriousness of your relationship and he admitted to something far more serious than I expected from you.”

Garak didn’t steer his eyes away from Enabran but he thought about glaring at Julian the longer his father spoke. He knew Julian didn’t know about their father-son relationship but admitting their intimacy to another Cardassian was dangerous, borderline suicidal. Garak was exiled. With any other Cardassian, such admittance might have gotten Julian killed, or worse, even if Martok was present. The Klingon could only do so much to protect him.

His dark intent, however, was muted when Enabran’s hand reached up and touched his, which had grasped the edge of the bed.

“Let yourself have that weakness, Elim.” Enabran’s voice was soft, a near whisper. “Cherish him.”

And that was it. With one last breath, Enabran was gone.

There was a moment, just one, where he considered Enabran’s final words to be a rather cruel joke. The man had spent his entire life shaping Garak into himself. They only had one real bonding experience and that was decades ago and took up the span of one day – their only day. But he knew that he couldn’t say that anymore. Not after that.

“Garak?”

Julian almost whispered his name. Garak paused for a moment before removing Enabran’s hand from his and standing.

“It was foolish of you to tell him,” Garak said, his eyes still on his father’s face.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Garak said, “I didn’t tell you. I haven’t told you many important things, but yet you still thought our relationship was close enough to speak with other Cardassians about it.”

“Isn’t it?”

_Cherish him._ It still rang so clear in Garak’s head. And no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t reprimand Julian for his romantic innocence. The man was in love. In truth, so was Garak. He simply chose not to speak of it, no matter how close their relationship became. It gave him a means of escape when their hearts rang too loudly. Now, though… now…

“It is,” Garak answered with a sigh, “Part of me wishes it wasn’t, my dear, but it is.”

“I believe that might be the first time you’ve been honest with me,” Julian said.

“And I’m quite certain it won’t be the last.”

Garak finally looked back at Julian. A grave but simple smile crossed the young doctor’s face. Garak couldn’t return it. He didn’t have to. Julian knew how genuine he was truly being, and that’s all that matters.


	45. Looks Like Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Established Garashir. Mention of gunshot wound from _Our Man Bashir_.
> 
> This didn't come from a prompt, but I thought it was too short to post on it's own. I saw a post on Tumblr about falling in love with brown eyes and was motivated to write this.

Julian’s eyes appeared to be a simple brown at first. Garak didn’t mind them, but they hardly held the wonders of the stars or the magic of the sun.

But as Garak spoke during their first meeting, he caught an innocent glint skirting across the doctor’s widening gaze. That oh so simply brown opened into chestnuts, rusts, and copper hues that dared defy what colors existed in the universe. They were alluring, those eyes – enchanting, even. But Garak saw beyond those hues and into the potential that lay within them. He longed to see that innocent light drain away so the brown that laced it would dull into a fine dirt tone that matched the Cardassian sands he longed for. In time, he thought.

Over the years, as Garak strove to drive that innocence away, he managed to bring forth a different light. Passion cast those brown eyes in bronze and amber and provided a sheen unlike the one innocence and surprise supplied. Garak caught this during their various literary lunches and urged the most dramatic eye rolls and wanderings just so he could truly admire how their conversational fire altered both those irises completely. They shone like nothing on Cardassia could. He doubted, after various conversations, that he would ever pull enough light from those eyes to be truly reminded of home.

Then, one night, as they sat in silence in the infirmary, Garak caught something in the good doctor’s eye that he hadn’t seen before.

The man had shot him. To be fair, he had put the doctor’s friends at risk by attempting to leave the holosuite in the middle of a rather irritating, yet interesting, experience. They were still wearing suits that matched the doctor’s rather ridiculous spy fantasy, yet Bashir has escaped from that computer simulation and returned to his doctoring ways. His hands were on Garak’s neck as the man regenerated the scales torn open by the gunshot wound. They were warm, those hands. Garak would have said so, but his mind was focused on the darkened, half-lidded gaze that stole the light from the doctor’s eyes. They weren’t brown, as Garak expected them to be, but a luscious black that matched extravagant reams of silk and satin that Garak reserved for the most precious of events. When the doctor’s work was done, those darkened eyes matched his gaze and spoke the words neither of them mustered together in the last three years. Garak reached for them, but only let his thumbs brush across the doctor’s cheeks, centimeters from those illustrious hues.

They would never look like Cardassia, those eyes, but to Garak, they still looked like home.


	46. Weakness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, Benjamin Sisko
> 
> Age-swapped Garak and Bashir.
> 
> Prompt: _Julian is just like kind of middle aged and Garak is like thirty or so but everything else is more or less the same._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153713462038/since-youre-still-accepting-prompts-i-was)]

Teal. That’s the science color. Scientists could be weak.

But he looked old. Not in a bad way. No, no, definitely not. The human was tan and thin and handsome, with his defined cheekbones and distracted yet thin-pressed smile. The only thing that truly gave away his age was the wrinkles on his face and the graying strands of hair in his beard. Garak didn’t know enough about human age to know exactly how old that science man was, but he was old enough to have experience in the universe. He couldn’t be used.

Garak dropped his gaze from the man that lingered at the door of the replimat and thumbed through the text on his PADD. It was a Cardassian novel: The Never Ending Sacrifice. He hadn’t read it yet, but his exile opened up the possibility. He enjoyed it, adored it, but for the moment, he couldn’t focus on the words. There was too much change here, too many new faces, too many decisions.

He needed to get into his father’s good graces again. Prying information from a Starfleet officer would offer that possibility to him, but it had to be the right one. There must be younger ones, less experienced ones. The station wasn’t exactly a strategic location, so there was bound to be some inexperienced officers roaming around. Garak just needed one to–

“Excuse me.”

The gentle, accented voice caught him off guard, but Garak did his best not to show it. Garak’s gaze flicked up. The science man was there, teal clad and still smiling one of those small, albeit pleasant, smiles.

“May I join you?”

He didn’t bring food. The science man had no reason to sit with him. Curiosity piqued, Garak nodded. The man’s smile grew as he sat.

“My name’s Julian Bashir,” he said, “I’m the station’s Chief Medical Officer now.”

A doctor. Well, that hardly changed things. Though Garak wondered if Starfleet doctors were anything like Cardassian doctors, or if the man had talents besides medicine that he could use to harm, if he so wished.

“You’re… Garak, right?” Julian asked.

“That’s correct,” Garak said, his tone polite and smile pressed if only to seem pleased with the doctor’s knowledge. It wasn’t that hard to figure out, though. He was the only Cardassian on the station and he knew the wild rumors that fluttered around. He started most of them. The fearful, gossip-loving Bajorans took care of the rest, though those were far less creative.

“Just Garak?” Julian asked.

“Just Garak,” Garak said, “I’m just plain, simple Garak.”

“Ah,” Julian said, “Well, I’m afraid your reputation is anything but plain and simple.”

“Why, whatever do you mean?”

Garak smiled softly. It’s a sentence and smile he’d paired together before, when prying Bajorans made similar statements. Most people – well, most sane people – muttered apologizes, excused themselves, and never graced Garak with their presence again. But the doctor, this Doctor Bashir, seemed unmoved by his response. In fact, the smile that pressed against the doctor’s face mirrored interest.

“You’re the only Cardassian on this station,” Julian answered, “That alone is going to cause stories to pass around. Surely you’ve heard some of them.”

“Only whispers,” Garak said, “Though I do suppose that is why some Bajorans on this station are rather skittish when I enter a room.”

“Completely unintentional on you’re part, I’m sure.”

“Of course.”

“I guess that means you don’t get much company either.”

“Oh, but I do find wonderful ways to pass the time.”

“Really?” Julian asked. The doctor leaned forward and placed his chin on the palm of his propped up right hand. That smile, once pleasant, picked up into something more wild, flirtatious, _dangerous_. “And what exactly do you do to pass the time?”

Garak’s smile faded. He hadn’t noticed. He was too busy attempt to dissect the intent through the doctor’s lit up eyes and toying smile. Was he playing with him? Was he trying to fish out information about Cardassia? Was he trying to court him?

“I read, mostly,” Garak answered. It was dull, flat response, but he was grateful it didn’t reflect the rampaging thoughts that soared in volume through his mind.

“Is it all Cardassian literature or do you read literature from other cultures?” Julian asked.

He’d looked at the PADD sometime during their conversation without taking his gaze off Garak, or, somehow, he managed to look at the words on the screen before he even interrupted Garak’s mental wanderings. Either way, the doctor was far more gifted than he let on. Were all humans so gifted?

“I’ve limited myself to Cardassian literature for the time being,” Garak answered.

“I haven’t had the pleasure of reading anything from Cardassia. What are you reading now?”

“The Never Ending Sacrifice.”

“Sounds dark.”

“It’s a repetitive epic which chronicles seven generations of a single family and their work for the state,” Garak said.

“Are you enjoying it?”

“Certainly. It is one of the greatest Cardassian novels ever written.”

“Is that a fact?” Julian asked. “Well, I’ll try to get my hands on a copy. Then maybe we can sit down and discuss our personal feelings on the material.”

“Sisko to Doctor Bashir.”

The interjecting voice came from the doctor’s badge, which sat poised above his human heart.

“Go ahead,” Julian said. His eyes didn’t linger from Garak’s face.

“I’d like to see you in ops,” Sisko said, “I need your opinion on something.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Julian stood but his gaze remained locked on Garak’s face.

“Why don’t I come by your shop at around nineteen-hundred hours and we can discuss our interests in more detail,” Julian said, “You seem like a delightful young man and I’d hate for you to feel lonely while you’re on this station. I would be happy to keep you company, if you’re interested.”

Delightful young man. That would’ve been laughable from someone else, but there was a teasing tone there that Garak couldn’t shake. No, not teasing. Affectionate. It was something so alien to Garak that he wasn’t sure how to respond to it. He opened his mouth, paused, and then closed it again. He opted for a nod instead.

“Good,” Julian answered, “I’ll see you after my shift, then. Have a good afternoon, Garak.”

And then the doctor left the replimat. Garak watched him leave as a curious energy surged through him. Doctor Bashir was nothing like Cardassians. He wasn’t anything like the Bajorans either. He was an aged sun with a puzzling passion and a heart filled with kindness and tease. There was nothing on those features to indicate deceit, even if Garak had assumed so in the past. He was truly kind and interested in Garak simply because of his good heart. There weren’t very many people like that. A flustered yet delightful energy bound through him and a smile pulled back onto his lips.

Maybe Doctor Bashir could be useful after all.


	47. Programming Glitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, Odo, Benjamin Sisko, Jadzia Dax, Miles O'Brien, Quark, original antagonist
> 
> Damsel in distress, stabbing, character death (in a way)
> 
> Prompt: _can you write some damsel in distress julian with garak (and maybe odo) saving him_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153725245123/if-youre-still-taking-prompts-can-you-write-some)]

“Computer, locate Doctor Bashir.”

“Doctor Bashir is in holosuite two.”

Garak sighed. Of course. There was a station wide electronics issue hooked directly to the holosuite and his dear Doctor Bashir is stuck inside one of them. They already couldn’t turn off the holosuites, no they had a more pressing issue to deal with. No doubt his new program was partially to blame for the whole fiasco.

The good doctor had kept his new holosuite adventure a secret, much like he did with the secret agent program months ago. Only, this wasn’t the secret agent program. Julian had asked for a new costume -- something regal, refined. Garak was delighted to make such a thing for him, and was even more delighted to see it on him. He was curious as to what story would call for such a wondrous outfit, but Garak decided to bring up the matter with Quark, not Julian. One quick peek during the late night hours would quell his curiosity.

Now, though, Garak regretted the delay.

“It’s not like last time,” Chief O’Brien said. Garak’s gaze flicked up to him. “There’s no one else trapped in there with him. We could send a couple people in there and fish him out.”

“That’s assuming we can get in at all,” Jadzia said.

“Oh, it is quite possible to break into the holosuites no matter what state of ill-repair they’re in,” Garak said. Eyes flicked to him almost at once. Six pairs of them, to be exact. Some where wide open and others harbored no shock or disbelief.

“And I’m assuming you’ve tested that,” Constable Odo said.

“Oh, hardly,” Garak answered, “But they are not the most secure rooms on this station. It would be quite easy to slip inside one, given that you have the right security access, of course.”

“And you have access?” Captain Sisko asked.

“Of course. But even if I didn’t, Constable Odo certainly does. I believe Quark has asked him to use his access codes on a number of occasions. Is this not true?”

“It is,” Odo said.

“Alright,” Sisko said, “Let’s try to open holosuite two. Chief, Constable, Mr. Garak, I’ll leave it up to you to get in there and get him. Dax, I want you to go down to Quark’s as well. If there’s anyone else in those holosuites, I want to know and I want them out.”

Garak led their small team of four to Quark’s. The place was half-empty, with seats and tables clearing steadily by the minute. Garak cut to the bar where an irritated glance from the Ferengi owner met his gaze.

“If you’re looking for dinner, the replicator’s down,” Quark said.

“A lot of things are down right now,” Chief O’Brien answered, “The problem seems to be originating from your holosuites. We need to open them.”

“Be my guest, if you think it’ll help,” Quark answered.

“You wouldn’t happen to know what kind of program he’s in, would you?” Garak asked.

“Nope. Just came in today and Bashir hasn’t said much about it.”

Garak headed up the stairs towards the holosuites as talk continued between Jadzia and Quark. He tuned it out. If there was anything important discussed, he would find it out once Julian was freed from the holosuite. Once they arrived outside of holosuite two, O’Brien opened the electronics hatch and took a look at the haphazardly pieces together configurations inside.

“The program’s still running,” he said, “And it looks like computer controls and the safety is locked out.”

Garak frowned.

“Please tell me you have some means of turning those systems back on,” Garak said.

“I do, but it’s going to take some time.”

“I’m afraid time is something we may not have, Chief. I would like to enter the holosuite while these systems are still down.” He could see the protest on O’Brien’s face before the engineer even opened his mouth. Garak put up a hand to stop his words. “I understand the personal risk, but I’m afraid it might be necessary. There is no way of knowing Doctor Bashir’s current state and any delay may put him into far more danger than he’s already in.”

“I’m going with you,” Odo said.

Garak thought about arguing but he decided against it. The Constable could be useful, depending on what lay beyond the holosuite doors, and he could always use the company. Garak nodded.

“Alright, I’ll have to open the doors manually,” O’Brien said, “If I get the safety programs and computer controls running before I shut down the program, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, Chief,” Garak said.

After a moment, the doors slid open. Garak stepped through the threshold first and into a forested area with a winding path that led to a rather monstrous gray slab castle that pierced the sky with jabbing spires that were scaled almost like Garak. The structure seemed ominous despite the blue and white sky and far too green landscape. Of course, the silence that permeated across the land certainly didn’t help matters.

The door closed behind him and vanished. Odo brushed against his side.

“It never is simple with the dear doctor, is it?” Garak asked. Odo huffed. He agreed, no doubt. After a moment, Odo jumped and soared into the air as a bird of some kind and flapped above the opening. Garak watched as he flew in a half circle, paused as he looked towards the castle, and then dove down again, changing back into his humanoid shape as he did.

“There’s two people ahead,” Odo said, “I believe one of them is Doctor Bashir.”

They walked side-by-side in silence. Garak could only hear their own footsteps at first, but the further they went, the clearer two distinct voices became. One Garak immediately recognized as Doctor Bashir; he still held the same charming quality despite the strained tone that went with his, after first, unclear words. The second was unfamiliar, but far too dramatic to belong to anyone that was truly alive.

“You have given me a gift!” was the first thing in their conversation Garak could make out. It was followed by more muted words that were lost to him. Their steps became slower, softer, and then they both stepped off the path and ducked behind trees. The voices were clear then.

“My powers may be a mystery to you, Prince, but to me they are nothing but a miracle. All my enemies are gone, you see. Vanished! I could bring them back if only to watch them grovel at my feet in order to remain alive. I could! I may! And perhaps I will have you watch as each little soul comes back and begs me for their very lives.” The man behind the voice laughed. It was soft, deep, toying. “And you have no way to stop me. Your sword, your steed, your magic -- it’s all gone! And now I can rule the kingdom as I wish.”

“Computer--”

Julian’s voice was cut off with a muffled cry, no doubt his own. Garak eased closer and finally caught a glimpse of the scene.

Several meters in front of him were two figures. The first, the good doctor’s, was bound in vines that extended from the ground like snakes and wrapped taut around the squirming man’s body. Most of the fabric Garak so carefully stitched together was hidden beneath cords of green which extended in coils up the man’s legs, arms, torso, and now mouth. His throat was still free, but as the vines progressed, Garak doubted that would last.

The second figure advanced on the doctor with a victorious sneer pressed under his hooked nose. His purple suit looked like something Garak would certainly make, and nearly matched the good doctor’s in tone, though the colors were a delightful juxtaposition between light and dark, good and evil -- no doubt an intentional choice when Julian asked for his own to be made. One of the man’s hands, smooth under the light, reached up and brushed through Julian’s hair.

Garak looked at Odo. The Constable’s gaze caught his. “Could you become a sword, Constable?” Garak asked, his voice a low whisper. Odo complied without hesitation, the handle of which fell into Garak’s grasp with ease.

“I would make you disappear like the others,” the man cooed, “But I so long to see you suffer. I believe strangulation would suffice.”

Garak’s gaze lifted back to the man. He expected the vines to tightened around the good doctor’s neck. Instead, the man continued to speak in a way that reminded Garak far too much of Dukat. He sighed and stepped from the shade of the trees.

“I believe I’ve seen just about enough of this,” Garak said. Two sets of eyes turned towards him. Julian squirmed and yelled out his name, but it was muffled by the vines. Garak, for the moment, ignored the doctor’s movements and sounds. Instead, he focused solely on the man who advanced on him with the ease and confidence of a trained killer.

“You must be this Computer person Prince Julian has been attempting to control,” the man said. “I must say, you’re not what I expected. Why, you aren’t even human! But it doesn’t matter. Begone!”

The man gave the air a simple wave. Nothing happened. The toying smile on the man’s face plummeted away. He waved again. Nothing. Another wave. Still nothing. He sighed, almost chuffed in the way an overacting child would.

“There is more to you after all,” the man said, his nose lifting in the air so he could stare down it to Garak in an attempt at superiority. “But no power you have can match my newfound magic.”

“You seem quite certain of that, yet you were unable to use your magic on me. Perhaps it’s not as powerful as you believe.”

The man’s lips twitched. The man raised his hand. The ground shifted. Garak pulled the sword back and jabbed it forward. The blade extended and pierced the man’s heart. The ground stopped. The man blinked, looked down, stared at the morphing blade, and looked back up again.

“You're... the...” he started. He never finished. He fell back and hit the ground. Odo unfurled from his grasp and took his humanoid shape at the man’s side. The vines that ones held the doctor eased and plopped in an unceremonious heap on the ground. Julian went with them and landed with a harsh thud. Garak walked over to help the doctor to his feet. It was then he noticed the tearing and discoloration on the outfit he’d tailored to perfection.

“How unfortunate,” Garak said. He brushed his hand against the light fabric in the hope of brushing the dirt away. It didn’t help. “If I had known you were intent on dirtying my hard work, I would have chosen a different fabric.”

“I almost died, and you’re worried about my clothes?” Julian asked.

“Believe me, my dear doctor, I would be far more worried about other things if your life were still in danger. But as it is, you’re fine, and your clothes are not.”

“How did you get in here?” Julian asked.

“Ah, Chief O’Brien let us in,” Garak said as he dropped his hand and looked at Julian’s frowning and blush tinted face, “I’m afraid there’s a station wide electrical issue occurring at the moment which we believe originated from the holosuites. When we became aware of your presence inside this suite, Odo and I volunteered to assist you in escaping.”

“You volunteered?” Julian asked. “I can expect Odo to volunteer, but you?”

“Contrary to what you may believe, Doctor, I do put myself in harms way for the benefit of others on occasion.”

“O’Brien to Odo.”

“Go ahead,” Odo called. He’d moved from the body while Garak wasn’t looking and now stood not too far away.

“You should be able to leave now.”

“Computer, exit,” Garak called. The door appeared and opened. Quark’s upper level came into view and looked as normal as ever. Garak led the way out of the holosuite and into the real world. O’Brien was looking over the holosuite technology still with a face of puzzlement rather than triumph.

“Are you still having issues shutting down the programming?” Garak asked.

“No,” O’Brien answered, “The whole system just seemed to... fix itself. Captain Sisko called and said all the station systems were back online too, just... out of nowhere.” He looked up at them. “Anything happened while you were in there?”

“I stabbed someone with the Constable,” Garak said, “It was a rather messy business but I believe it would make for a good story, in time.”

“And this someone,” O’Brien said, “Is he dead?”

“Yes, quite. I do believe he was trying to say some rather dramatic last words, but his body gave out before he could finish them. It was rather fortunate for us, as he did have a tendency to go about on lengthy monologues, much like Dukat.”

“You mean like all Cardassians,” Julian said. Garak looked at him with a fake hurt expression.

“My dear doctor, had I known you would be so vile, I would have left you in the clutches of that rather dastardly man.”

Julian only chuckled in response. O’Brien shut off the program, closed up the technology, and took out the holosuite program storage device.

“I suggest you not use this program again, Julian,” O’Brien said, “We once had an issue on the Enterprise with a holodeck villain that gained sentience. He almost killed everyone on the ship trying to get off the holodeck. If killing that man really did fix all the problems, I’d hate for them to start up again because he came back to life.”

“Alright,” Julian said. He didn’t sound disappointed. “I’ll be sure to tell Felix too. I’d hate for him to spread this program around if it’s really that dangerous.”

“Probably a good idea,” O’Brien answered as he stood. “Now, I’ve got to go make sure nothing else is still down. Glad to see you’re alright, Julian.” He handed the program over. Julian took it.

“Thanks, Chief,” Julian answered.

O’Brien nodded and headed for the stairs.

“I better head back to ops and see if there’s any reported security issues,” Odo said, stepping towards the stairs himself, “Doctor, Garak.”

Garak nodded and watched the changeling leave.

“Tell me, Doctor,” Garak said, bringing his attention back to his human companion, “What was it that man was trying to say before he passed?”

“Oh, it’s... nothing important,” Julian said. He broke eye contact with Garak and stared at his feet. “Just some prophecy that was built into the program.”

“Do tell.”

“It... well... the entire story was built around this prophecy that whoever killed the man you killed would become the true ruler of the kingdom. I think he was trying to say so.”

“It would certainly seem that way,” Garak said, “But weren’t you portraying the prince? Shouldn’t that make you the rightful heir?”

“I would have been, if the story had gone like it was supposed to, so it wouldn’t have mattered, but if you want to get into the logistics of the plot, I suppose that I should’ve been the rightful heir and you killing that man would’ve disrupted the power that my family had for years.”

“So I would then become a target for you to keep the throne,” Garak said.

“Well, that, or...”

“... or?”

Julian cleared his throat.

“We could’ve gotten married.”

“Married,” Garak said, “In order to keep the throne you would have married yourself off to a rather unfit king? I must say, doctor, that is quite interesting. Tell me, if it were Constable Odo, would you be making the same comment?”

Julian didn’t respond. That was enough of an answer for Garak. He suspected that the dear doctor liked him for some time, and this was certainly proof of that. Garak smiled.

“How would you feel about dinner?”

Julian’s gaze and head lifted.

“Dinner?”

“Yes, dinner, tonight. Say, my quarters, at twenty-hundred hours?”

Julian blinked at him.

“Are... are you serious?”

“Quite serious, Doctor. If you’re not interested, I can find someone else that would find my company to be--”

“No!” Julian yelled it. Any chatter downstairs hushed. Garak watched the young man flounder with flustered delight before clearing his throat again. “No, I’ll be there. Twenty-hundred hours.”

“You can be a little early, if you wish, but try not to be late. And, if you don’t mind, I would prefer if you wore something clean that wasn’t your work uniform.”

“I have something in mind.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you tonight, my dear.”

He walked to the steps and didn’t look back. Not until he was certain Julian wasn’t looking at him. He glanced up as he paused at the bottom of Quark’s stairs. Julian was beaming. Inside, so was Garak.


	48. Soft Spots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak
> 
> Forced tickling.
> 
> Prompt: _Bashir attempts to anitiate a tickle fight with Garak and he finds out that Garak isn't ticklish at all. Garak wastes no time getting revenge and he reduces Bashir to a giggling mess in his arms._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153817126383/garashir-prompt-bashir-attempts-to-anitiate-a)]

Garak was reading when Julian arrived.

Julian expected as much. His shift ran late and the Cardassian never wasted a second of his time alone. What he hadn’t expected was Garak’s attention to stay so sternly on those words. There was usually a flicker of blue or a smile when Julian made his appearance, but this time nothing answered him. His quarters may as well have been empty.

“Evening, Garak,” he said.

There was still no response. Julian crossed the room and peered at the words. Even upside-down, Julian could tell that it was a Cardassian novel of some kind. Likely one of those repetitive epics Garak adored so much. Something like _The Never-Ending Sacrifice_ , perhaps. Although he hadn’t cared for the content, Garak did, and the Cardassian’s passion on the matter was far more important that Julian’s own impressions. He smiled at the Cardassian and walked into the bedroom to change out of his uniform.

He had been in a mood when he got off his shift – one that involved something more intimate than a good novel. Even if he had to wait, he hoped to pry Garak from those words so they could create a pleasant time of their own. One that Julian hoped would be more treasured than the repetitive epics Garak so admired.

Julian opted for a pair of fitted slacks and a white button-up with white sheer, loose arms, both of which Garak designed for him on a whim. At the time, Julian believed the man was just being kind. Now, though, he knew that the clothes were offered to him because Garak liked seeing Julian wear something handcrafted and suiting to his figure. They weren’t his favorite clothes, but Julian loved to wear them if only to garner his beloved Cardassian’s attention.

He checked himself in the mirror for a moment before stepping into the sitting room. Garak was still there, eyes focused on the words. Without a sound, Julian slipped over to the Cardassian and plopped onto the couch next to him. He settled into the man’s side, stared at the PADD screen, and waited for a chapter break. His right fingertips rolled idly against Garak’s right thigh, present but not pressing. Julian would wait as Garak did.

But as time rolled on and Garak flipped through several pages, Julian started becoming restless. These repetitive epics were known to have long chapters, but Julian hadn’t remembered them being this long.

His thoughts roamed away from the words and towards ideas of how he could pull Garak’s attention to him without inviting a fire-laced glare. Kisses could work, but only if Garak was in a mood of his own. Clearly, he wasn’t. It could be worked up to, but the PADD had to be released and the charm of the novel disconnected, if only for the time being. Alright, then more intimate touches, perhaps. Julian had tried that before, with mixed results. Something new, then. Something different.

Tickling.

In their months together, Julian had never tried to tickle Garak. As far as he knew, his touches never urged a chuckle or skittish jerk from the Cardassian. He rolled over their more intimate moments to see if that truly was the case. It was.

A change was in order.

Julian lifted his right hand from Garak’s thigh and slowly traced it to Garak’s ribs. He traced them, waiting for a jerk or vocal noise of some kind. Neither happened. Julian shifted his fingers to Garak’s stomach and hip. Same thing. Julian’s eyes scoured over the man’s torso in an attempt to visualize what parts of the Cardassian’s body could possibly be ticklish.

“My dear.”

Garak’s voice pulled Julian’s attention to the scaled face. A pleasant, neutral stare met his surprised gaze.

“What are you doing?”

Julian blinked. His eyes flicked to his own fingers which lay sprawled against Garak’s far side and disappeared around the rounding of his ribs. Julian flicked up to the man’s gaze as he offered a warm smile.

“I was trying to get your attention.”

He heard the PADD shift against the table. Garak’s eyes didn’t waver.

“Were you?” Garak asked. “Seems rather odd of you to behave in such a way just for my attention.”

“I wanted to try something different.”

“Something like tickling?”

“Well,” Julian said, squinting his eyes a little and pulling his gaze away as he spoke, “It’s not like it worked but I did get your attention, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Garak answered, “But I’m afraid I have you at a disadvantage, my dear. You see, Cardassians aren’t ticklish.”

Oh. Well that was disappointing. Julian tried to show his disappointment on his face when he looked towards Garak, but the gaze he was met with threw that plan away.

Garak was smiling. No, smirking. Those blue eyes blazed with intent so defined that even the trained agent couldn’t hide it. Julian inched back, paused, swallowed, and then attempted to lurch himself away from the couch and out of Garak’s reach. Garak, however, was faster. Arms wrapped around him and trapped his own against Julian’s sides. One of Garak’s arms gathered Julian’s forearms and trapped them behind his back while the other turned Julian so his chest was facing towards the open room, towards the freedom he couldn’t quite reach. He squirmed in Garak’s hold as the free Cardassian hand inched under his shirt.

“Now if I recall correctly,” Garak said as that hand shifted towards Julian’s side, “The skin above your ribs is quite sensitive.”

“No,” Julian whispered before he bit his bottom lip to hold back his smile. He jerked before Garak’s fingers even arrived at their destination.

“There’s no reason to lie, my dear,” Garak answered, “I really am quite familiar with your body and how you may respond to stimulation like this.”

The “this” marked the beginning. Garak’s fingertips scraped gently against his ribs and Julian lost all control. Laughter echoed from his mouth as he tried to squirm out of Garak’s grasp. The Cardassian’s arm tightened against his own and the tickling didn’t stop - not when Julian leaned forward, not when he twisted and turned, not when he jerked back and unconsciously tried to push Garak’s body away. He was almost in tears by the time Garak’s hands stopped and firmly pressed against Julian’s side.

Julian started to breathe again, but it took a few more moments before he managed to stop giggling.

“Have I ever told you that you have such a delightful laugh?” Garak asked.

“No, I don’t believe you have,” Julian said. He attempted to twist around in Garak’s grasp so he could meet the Cardassian’s gaze, but the man’s hands held him in place.

“How unfortunate,” Garak answered, “Well, it certainly is one of the most captivating noises in the world. Would you like to hear it again? I would be more than happy to–”

“No!” Julian cried out and squirmed, his smile still present on his face, “No, no, don’t tickle me again.”

“Why not? You seemed to enjoy the sensation.”

“Garak, please.”

Julian said it was such a delighted tone that he almost thought Garak wouldn’t take him seriously, yet Garak sighed with false irritation and let his arms ease. Julian wheeled around and wrapped his own arms around the back of Garak’s neck. The Cardassian arms settled around his waist as a big grin spread across Julian’s face.

“Thank you,” Julian said.

“Oh, you shouldn’t thank me yet, my dear,” Garak said, “I may have stopped tickling you, but I’m not quite finished fishing delectable noises out of you. In fact, I’m considering an all night escapade in order to find out what sounds you make under more sensational duress.”

“Garak, I have to work in the morning.”

“Something you should have considered before your rather foolish attempt to garner my attention, my dear.”

Garak kissed him. Julian kissed back in silence. He was sure he wouldn’t be so quiet about it later on.


	49. The Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Established Garashir.
> 
> Prompt: _The exact moment Garak realizes that he LOVES Julian. Sure, they already have the friendship and that strangely perfect sexual affair, but these were always separate things, causing no problems, and now..._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/153820994673/hey-ive-finally-invented-the-worthy-prompt-for)]

Garak never anticipated it, never thought of it, never even let the idea rise as a question in his mind. To him, life was a series of severing connections that eventually ended in loneliness and death. Love, or at least the attainable goal of love, wasn’t an option for him. Not ever.

Even as his relationship with Doctor Bashir blossomed into something more intimate, Garak kept his emotional distance. It was easy. In the past, he’d succeeded at similar tasks while putting himself at far greater risks. The good doctor was no more a physical risk than many of the Bajoran civilians and held quite a bit of valuable information. Though such information was still hard to come by, Garak found the doctor has a loose tongue in more ways than one and often spilled far more than he had intended. Garak’s luck was turning. Returning to Cardassia could be a possibility yet.

As their relationship became more and more public, Garak allowed Julian to parade him around the station with his bright, near searing optimism. It had gotten to the point where walks around the promenade were routine and curious eyes hardly questioned their appearance together any longer. Even the senior staff, who were far more paranoid about this little affair, had pulled away their prying eyes when they passed, save for Odo, of course, who kept his eyes on everything. Still, Garak preferred the late night hours, when the promenade was beginning to close and the two of them could drift to the replimat and talk without any passing souls interrupting. No crowds, no claustrophobia, no problems. Well, mostly.

“My dear, you really should make a choice,” Garak said, a teasing lilt touching his words.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Julian answered. His fingers still hovered over the replicator panel as his mind no doubt rolled over the choices he wanted to make. They were fortunate the replimat was nearly empty at this late hour, just before the entire promenade closed down, otherwise there would be some rather irritated civilians standing behind them scoffing at their lack of movement. Julian became indecisive like this at times. When these moments arose, they came paired with a small pout and a furrowed brow that wrinkled the man’s forehead just enough to show his age.

“You apologize and yet, we’re still standing here.”

“I know, I just don’t know if I want chocolate or vanilla ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” Garak asked. “It’s cold enough on this station. Why would you ever consciously decide to eat something that would make you colder?”

“To spite you,” Julian answered. He looked over and flashed a grin. Garak responded to it with a pressed frown.

“Really, my dear, there are better ways to do that than eating ice cream.”

“What could I possibly do that would be more spiteful than eating ice cream?”

“You could stand around the replimat and continue to be indecisive about which ice cream you want to eat.”

“Well then, maybe I’ll do that.”

“You may do that all you wish, but I’m afraid I will have to leave at a certain point.”

Julian closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around Garak’s right one. His brown eyes beamed with an intensity Garak had grown familiar with; it blazed with playfulness, tease, delight.

“I won’t let you,” Julian said.

“Ah, but see, now I have control,” Garak said. He grabbed Julian’s left wrist with his free hand and began walking out of the replimat with the doctor in tow. Julian started to laugh.

“Wait, wait,” he said through giggles, “I’ll get chocolate.”

Garak stopped and let the doctor go. He watched the man walk to the replicator, pause, and then look back at Garak with a teasing grin. Garak sighed. Julian laughed again and put his order into the replicator. The hum of food being created sounded through the small room, but Garak hadn’t noticed. He was too focused on his own thoughts.

Julian’s laugh was delightful. That wasn’t a new thought. His smile was too. That, also, wasn’t a new thought. What was new, however, was the sudden thought that was so loud, so clear, that he almost took it and ran from the replimat with every fiber he could muster.

 _If anyone dare hurt my Julian, I’ll kill them_.

It wasn’t like he read, Garak thought. Love wasn’t a flower, blossoming in the spring and staying immortalized in the heart. No, love was a cloud. It was there, present, seen, always known. It could raise and lower on a whim and drag the heart with it. At that moment, when Julian turned, that bowl in hand, and motioned to a nearby table, Garak felt his heart soar with the whitest of clouds over the Cardassian desert. But should his dear sun drift beneath the horizon and never rise again, that cloud would darken and seep to the earth to cover what little benevolence he’d gathered over the past few years.

He could attempt to clear the sky and fight against that love. He thought to do so. Instead, Garak crossed the room and sat beside his dear Doctor Bashir.


	50. Cyrano de Bashirac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Miles O'Brien, Jadzia Dax
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: _I saw somewhere that Andrew Robinson wanted to do an ep that was Cyrano de Bergerac but with Bashir and Dax(?), and I was wondering, if you were still taking prompts, may I ask for a fic like that?_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/154149914963/i-saw-somewhere-that-andrew-robinson-wanted-to-do)]

Julian messed up.

He realized this several evenings prior while in the solitude of his own quarters. During late, lonely nights, just as he was about to drift off, Julian got in the habit of imagining what it was like to curl up against his current love interest. That night, his mind rotated over the idea of a broad chest, wide shoulders, a soft stomach, and Cardassian chin ridges that brushed against his hair. Julian tried to pull himself closer to that image, an unconscious smile curling onto his lips, before realizing that Garak had to be the one in the vision. His eyes shot open. The image didn’t leave. In fact, Julian longed for it to be real.

Shit.

Julian did his best to hide his emotional understanding during the day, especially when he ate lunch with Garak. Although their conversation was normal, Julian felt the tug of his heart when their eyes met, when Garak smiled, when the man leaned closer to whisper something in earnest even though there was no need for the action. And when he wandered away, his mind fluttered to the midnight meandering his mind dared cross. He couldn’t keep going like this. He had to tell someone.

He told Miles, who looked rather unsettled by the whole matter. He tried to whisper his displeasure, but the natural noise in Quark’s forced the man to speak louder.

“I can’t believe you’d like Garak of all people,” Miles said, “Never mind that he’s a Cardassian, Julian. He can’t be trusted. Even Captain Sisko would say something against it.”

“What would Benjamin be against?”

Jadzia’s voice was warm, but unwelcome in the moment. Julian looked up at her with an open mouth and went to say, “Nothing,” but Miles cut off his voice before it had a chance to escape.

“Julian likes Garak. Like he _likes_ Garak.”

Her eyes looked from Miles to Julian as Julian’s mouth shut and he glared at Miles. After a second, Jadzia took the unoccupied seat to Julian’s right. He looked. She beamed at him with a smile that would win the heart of any man. It certainly won his at one point.

“Have you told him?” she asked.

“No,” Julian said. His eyes wandered to the table. “I’m not sure I can at this point.”

“Of course you can,” Jadzia answered, “And I’m sure Garak will gladly listen.”

“You can’t be serious,” Miles said. Julian looked up at him but Miles’s attention was completely focused on Jadzia. “You not actually encouraging him to pursue a relationship with Garak, are you?”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you have to trust your heart when it comes to love,” Jadzia answered. Julian’s gaze flicked back to her. “It may not always work out like you hope, but it’s better to try and get rejected then not try at all.”

Jadzia’s eyes locked onto his again and her previous enthusiasm was still present.

“So, when are you going to tell him?”

“I…”

He fell silent. Her expression changed from excitement to shock.

“You aren’t planning on telling him, are you?” she asked. He didn’t answer. “Oh Julian, you have to tell him.”

“I’m not sure how. I don’t want to just say it. I want to… impress him, I guess.”

“I can help.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering, and you’re going to accept. I owe you anyway, remember?”

He did. His gaze flicked up to her again. She looked confident. That was the final key. He agreed.

Two days later, he found himself alone in the holosuite with a dining program running. It was hot. He resorted to wearing a sheer, white button-up with a pair of black slacks and dress shoes. He’d asked Garak to join him for dinner and promised lengthy discourse on literature and perhaps other mediums. It was Jadzia’s ideas. He left that last part out, which was likely why Garak agreed. Julian was excited then. But now, as the time for their allotted date grew closer, Julian dreaded it. He sighed and paced the room.

“It’s going to be fine, Julian,” Jadzia said. Her voice was clear in his left ear despite the fact that she was in Quark’s with Miles, their light banter covering her intent. The tiny communicator worked far better than he imaged it would.

“You’ve said that four times already,” Julian said.

“I wouldn’t have to say it so much if you believed it,” Jadzia answered. He sighed and stared out the open window to the desert sunset the program laid out. It looked nice. He might’ve appreciated the view more if his heart and mind weren’t racing.

“He’s making his way up the stairs,” Jadzia said. Julian took a deep breath, shook out his arms, cleared his throat, adjusted his open collar slightly, and ran a series of “act natural” phrases through his head. It was fine. Jadzia would help him if things started to fall apart.

The holosuite doors opened and Garak stepped inside. Julian looked over and gave the man a soft smile. Garak smiled back in a neutral way before looking about the room. His blue eyes flicked from fixture to fixture, taking in the world Julian had special ordered for the occasion. It was a detail that Garak didn’t need to know, but likely figured out from his own research, if he was curious enough.

“What a pleasant program, Doctor,” Garak said. He stepped farther into the room. The holosuite door shut and disappeared. Although Julian felt tense, Garak seemed to ease into the warmth was a natural Cardassian grace. “Had I expected something so delightful, I would have chosen different clothes.”

“I thought a change of pace would be nice,” Julian said.

“Oh?” Garak made eye contact with him. “And why is that?”

“Tell him you wanted him to have a chance to debate in a more comfortable atmosphere,” Jadzia said. Her voice was a whisper, but Julian doubted her normal voice would be picked up by Garak’s ears anyway.

“I thought you’d enjoy debating somewhere that’s a little more comfortable than the promenade.”

“How thoughtful.” Garak paused. His eyes looked towards the sunset. “Though, I must admit, this atmosphere isn’t suiting for our typical debates.”

“Why not?”

“My dear doctor, this really is far too romantic for such talk.”

“Argue with him,” Jadzia whispered. Julian frowned and shifted. His left arm crossed his chest and his fingers danced over the light fabric of his dress shirt.

“I thought it was fitting,” Julian said. Garak looked at him again and those blue eyes narrowed slightly.

“How so?”

“I…” Julian’s eyes flicked to the sunset, at the reds and yellows that flared against the false sky. “Well, reds are a passionate color in human culture but it’s not always romantic. I mean, it can be, but it can also be used to show rage or anger.”

“Or insight a fire, perhaps.”

Julian flicked his gaze back to Garak. The Cardassian hadn’t moved but there was something different in his expression and body language. Julian hadn’t seen anything quite as predatory contort Garak’s face before. It almost made him back away.

“Tell me, Doctor,” Garak said before Julian even had a chance to speak, “How long have you been planning this?”

Julian’s heart jerked. His mind flailed for words that weren’t forming.

“Tell him the truth,” Jadzia whispered.

“Tell him anything,” Miles added. Jadzia shushed him.

Julian opened his mouth in a feeble attempt to gather any sort of coherence.

“Well, not long, but–”

“But long enough to consider your venue wisely. You are an intelligent man, Doctor. I cannot imagine the romantic implications of such a setting went by you.”

“Go with it, Julian,” Jadzia said.

“What do you mean ‘go with it’?” Miles asked, “He’s supposed to argue with the guy.”

“They didn’t,” Julian said, almost yelling above Miles’s voice. The outburst made Garak blink. Julian cleared his throat, adverted his eyes, and shifted slightly. “I can understand why you would think it… I mean it… I…”

He clamped his mouth shut again.

“My dear doctor, if you were interested in me, all you had to do was bring the matter to my attention,” Garak said. Julian looked at him. Garak slowly closed the space between them. “This rouse with you and those two outside this suite is entertaining, but I would much rather us speak privately about the matter. And before any of you ask, I’m afraid you three were far too obvious about your little affair and it only took a little latinum to convince Quark that entrusting me with information was a rather good choice.”

Julian’s heart sank into his stomach. There was a pause on the other end.

“Well, good luck Julian,” Jadzia said. Miles started to say something, but his words were cut off by Jadzia shutting off the connection. Julian took a moment to fish the small communication device from his ear. Garak took it from him and didn’t even bother to examine it before he dropped it on the floor and crushed it with the heel of his shoe.

“Now,” Garak said, “I believe you have something to tell me.”

Julian’s heart thundered in his gut. He’d done something similar so many times before with all different figures but Garak was different. Garak had him figured out and could pick apart any cover he dare lay down in seconds. He could pick at his emotions and rub them raw until Julian was left with nothing but incoherent sounds and phrases that he had to muster together to speak. And Julian admired him for it, adored him, even. Julian swallowed before he let his racing mind control his mouth.

“I like you. Okay, I more than like you. If I just liked you, I wouldn’t even own this holosuite program. I ordered it just for this because I thought you would like it. I know it’s still not as warm as you’d like but I thought maybe you would… still… like it.”

Garak observed him in silence with a stoic expression that gave away nothing. Julian panicked. His mouth started moving again.

“I-I mean, I know it’s not Cardassia but I ordered it in a rush because I just realized how I felt even though I know I’ve liked you for months, probably years, and I wanted to impress you.”

Garak still didn’t say anything. Julian felt that surge of panic again as the man’s eyes seemed to bore into him and peer into the bowels of his soul. Julian’s left hand tightened against his right arm sleeve. His index finger and thumb rolled against the loose fabric.

“Please say something,” Julian said. It almost came out as a whisper.

“My apologies,” Garak said, “I was only silent in the hopes that your rather adorable flailing would continue. I have admired you for quite some time, Doctor, but I have not seen this rather pleasant side of you since our first encounter. But I hardly think these reddening expressions of yours are what won your previous partners over. Tell me, my dear doctor, how have you managed to entice so many others in the past? Wait, no. Don’t tell me. Show me.”

Julian felt heat rise against his cheeks but he smiled anyway.


	51. Pink Petals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Odo, Miles O'Brien, Keiko O'Brien, Julian Bashir, Molly O'Brien
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: _Could you write a ficlet in which someone has Odo take part in something that they enjoyed when they were young?_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/154276243243/i-always-thought-it-was-interesting-and-a-bit-sad)]

Odo spoke with Miles O’Brien about their canceled plans briefly.

“Keiko’s coming back to the station with Molly and Kirayoshi for a short visit and I want to do something with them.”

Odo didn’t mind. Although having those hours absent would be unusual, he was certain he would find some productive way to fill it. Likely, part of that time would involve watching Quark. He said so and it made Chief O’Brien smile just a little.

“I doubt Quark will give you a refund on the holosuite hours,” Odo said.

“Oh, I still plan on using them,” Chief O’Brien answered, “Thought I’d take the family on a picnic.”

“A picnic.” It was more of a statement than a question. In truth, Odo hadn’t meant anything by it. It was needed more for clarification than anything else.

“Is there something wrong with that?” O’Brien asked. He didn’t sound offended but his shoulders did stiffen.

“No,” Odo answered, “I’m just unfamiliar with the term.”

“A picnic’s where you go outside and eat on a blanket, usually. Keiko used to go on picnics all the time with her family as a kid. I bought a holosuite program with scenery that matches a certain time of year in Japan. She used to go to the cherry blossom festival as a kid. It’s when the trees are blossoming. It’s a sign of spring. Those trees made her want to become a botanist. She hasn’t seen them in years, though. I thought Keiko would like it.”

“I’m sure she will.”

Miles seemed to relax after that. Their conversation continued for a couple more minutes before the Chief left. Odo didn’t think much of it.

The next day – one day before their canceled holosuite hours – Odo was sitting in his office when Keiko walked through the door. She was smiling one of her polite “I’d like to invite you somewhere” smiles. Odo regarded it with a sense of warmth. They passed pleasantries before Keiko finally let him in on what that smile was for.

“Miles told me you didn’t know what a picnic was. Have you never been on a picnic before?”

“No.”

“Oh, then you have to come with us.”

“I’d hate to intrude.”

“I insist! Miles said it’s alright and I’m sure the kids would love to see you. If you’re that worried about being the only one outside the family there, we can always invite Julian. I’m sure he’d love to join us.”

Odo knew there was no getting out of it. Even the “I don’t eat” excuse wasn’t going to work. So, he agreed, and Keiko’s smile widened. They talked for a little longer before Keiko left.

The next day, Odo arrived at Quark’s a few minutes before the holosuite reservation. Quark wasn’t surprised to see him. Neither was Julian, who was waiting by the bar for them to show up, no doubt. Julian greeted him with a polite, kind smile. A norm for the doctor, no matter who was moving to greet him. A constant, friendly face.

“Afternoon, Constable,” he said, “Ready for the picnic?”

“I suppose,” Odo answered, “Though I’m not sure what I’ll be there to do, since I don’t eat.”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

Honest enough. They made idle chatter about station gossip before the O’Briens arrived with a large basket, a blanket, and the holosuite program. They said “hi” to Quark before they all moved up to holosuite two for their reservation. Miles put in the program. The holosuite doors opened. The family moved in first and then Julian followed with Odo coming in last.

The program was beautiful. The trees that Chief O’Brien had mentioned were petaled with pink flowers which started to sprinkle onto the grass, which was barren of all other people. Odo watched the petals twist and dance under the ocean sky and land with grace onto the wind brushed blades of green. His eyes wandered to Molly who began to gather some of the pink shards in her small hands. Nearby, Miles unfurled the blanket and laid it out. It’d fit twelve. Far too big for their small group. That, likely, didn’t matter to them.

“It’s not quite the same,” Odo heard Keiko say as she stared at the trees, “But it’s really close.”

“It’s the best program I could find,” Miles answered.

“And it’s wonderful, even if it’s not perfect. Thank you.”

They shared a kiss. Odo flicked his gaze from them to Molly again. Julian had started to help Molly collect the petals. She wanted more than her little hands could carry so Julian cupped his together in a small bowl and watched Molly place more inside. Even the doctor’s hands weren’t large enough, though. Some of the petals began to slip free and land in the grass with little effort. Odo walked over, knelt down, and formed his hands into a large bowl without a word. Petals were transferred to his care. Molly added more. Julian only watched.

“Molly, honey, come eat,” Keiko called. Molly looked at the collection of petals before looking up at Odo.

“I’ll keep them safe,” Odo said. He smiled. Molly smiled in return before running to the blanket. Odo glanced over at Julian. They exchanged smiles before joining the O’Brien family. Everyone else started to eat except for Odo, who let his hands remain in that bowl form, with the petals still inside. Some drifted from the trees above and joined their captured companions.

“I used to collect the petals too,” Keiko said, “I thought I could keep them from dying if I took them home and put them in water.”

“It didn’t work, did it?” Julian asked.

“No,” Keiko said, “I cried every time. Hopefully that’s not what happens to Molly.”

“If it is, we can always bring her back,” Miles said, “I’ll always have the program.”

“That’s true,” Keiko said.

Light chatter continued. Odo interjected small bits of conversation but mostly observed the family unit, the smiles, the laughter. Once she was done eating, Molly took to collecting petals again. Odo let his hands expand into a larger and larger bowl as her collecting progressed. The two hours went by quickly. Odo knew Quark would be coming in within the next few minutes. However, it was Julian who warned everyone of the Ferengi’s near approach.

“We’ll have to pack up before Quark shows,” Julian said.

Molly didn’t stop her collecting as the basket, the dishes, and the blanket were stored and secured in Julian and Keiko’s arms.

“Okay, Molly,” Keiko said, “We have to go. The petals have to stay here.”

Molly stopped then and looked at her collection. Odo could feel the weight then. It wasn’t unbearable by any means but there was no way any human could carry this many petals without them slipping through their fingers. He hadn’t bothered to count but he wished that he had. Next time, then. If there was ever a next time.

“But I wanna take them,” Molly said.

“No, they stay,” Keiko said, “We can come back tomorrow and see them again.”

“Okay,” Molly said. There was a disappointment there, though. Odo looked at the petals and then back at Molly. He considered his next move. Then he extended the bowl slowly above her head and let holes form. The petals showered down on her. She smiled and put her hands up. Pink pooled against her fingers and her face before sifting away and drifting to cover the grass. He smiled as the last of the petals drifted to the ground. He pulled his hands to him again and let them form into the familiar shape he was used to. Molly floundered in the petal pile before leaping away and running to Miles.

“Daddy, Odo made it rain,” she said.

“I saw,” Miles answered, “You be sure to thank him for that.”

She turned and looked at Odo. Odo made eye contact with her as he stood.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he answered with a smile.

They left the holosuite. All traces of the pink petals disappeared from their clothing. A shame. But Odo didn’t really mind. While the images couldn’t stay, the memories always would.


	52. Talk Of An End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Assumed main character death, final messages.
> 
> Prompt: _in 4x23 of ds9 it was mentioned that the crew of the Defiant record "goodbye messages" into the ship's log before battles. I wonder what Julian would write to a certain cardassian._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/154314791013/love-your-writing-i-have-an-idea-for-a-prompt-if)]

Julian’s face flicked on the screen. Of course it did. Garak’s heart hadn’t taken enough of the beating so the good doctor had to spite him by propelling his bright-faced optimism towards him one last time. At least it wasn’t paired with one those naive smiles he always tacked on during their lengthy lunches. This came with a frown. A rather small one.

“Hi Garak.”

The man’s voice was normal enough. No doubt the trouble hadn’t smashed into his shuttle yet.

“I don’t know if it’s customary for Cardassians to send these, but it’s normal for Starfleet officers to send messages to loved ones just in case… well, just in case they die. I’ve recorded hundreds of these by now and you haven’t seen any yet. I’m hoping that’ll continue. I’d rather not die out here. But just in case…”

Julian’s eyes shifted down. His shoulders tensed. The gaze shifted back, no doubt to the door of the infirmary. It was unclear if the doctor was alone, but Garak was certain he was.

“I never wanted to tell you how I felt because I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable in my company. I know life in exile hasn’t treated you well and even if I couldn’t tell you how I felt, I wanted your experience to be as pleasant as possible. So, I resisted. I guess it’s not entirely fair to tell you now but I thought it would be best to tell you in some form because I think you need to hear it.

“I don’t want to say ‘I love you’. It might be a little too brazen. But I care for you a great deal. I’ve considered stepping over the boundaries I placed and asking you for something more romantic anyway, but I never wanted to risk our friendship for that. I was sure you’d say ‘no’. I can’t be certain if that’s because you don’t want a romantic relationship with me in general or if you’re too guarded to let people in, but I didn’t want to risk it either way.

“The reason why I’m telling you this now is because I really do want you to be happy.”

Julian’s gaze flicked back to the screen. A kind, truthful smile spread onto the young man’s lips.

“There are others on the station who care about you. I know me being absent will hurt you at least a little but don’t exclude yourself from them because you’re in pain. You don’t have to talk to them about your feelings. You never even did that with me. But don’t isolate yourself. You can’t be happy by yourself and both of us know that. I don’t know if you’ll ever let someone in enough to have a healthy, romantic relationship with them, but I’m hopeful for it. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve someone like that.”

Julian sighed. His smile drifted away. He looked down at his hands. Silence. A moment passed. Then Julian looked up at the screen again and smiled.

“Even if you don’t take my advice, try not to forget about me. There’s nothing worse than being forgotten once you’re gone.”

Another pause.

“Thanks for all the lunches.”

The screen went black.

Garak exhaled, inhaled, exhaled. The air was jarring, shaky, as his heart thundered with the might of a thousand storms. Tears seized his vision, teetered, and then pooled out of his vision in a slowly growing cascade. Oh, his dear doctor. His dear, dear doctor. How foolish had he been to fall for such a troubled soul. How careless had he been to show his heart in such a way. How arrogant, how foolish, how reprehensible. Garak could’ve punched out the screen and screamed profanities at the dear dead man with a passion that dared defy what any Cardassian even dream of.

Yet, all he wanted to do was place his hands on the dear man’s face and kiss those tanned, seemingly sun-stained lips. He wanted to feel the man’s presence and feel the glow of his optimism taint his own bitter outlook. He wanted him, that dear Julian, to rest at his side, to read with him, to fall asleep resting against his very scales, to listen to the man breathe evenly as his mind rolled unconsciously through memories and visions and stories. Then he wanted to see the greens and browns of the doctor’s eyes dance as the morning alertness rose him from that tumbling darkness. But the only darkness for the doctor now was the infinite one that came with the blank mind and frozen heart.

Garak wasn’t sure how long he sat there in his miserable solitude. But when he rose, he demanded that all alarms be shut off. No wake up calls. No work. No interruptions. He crawled into bed without changing out of his day clothes and wondered how the dear doctor had fared in his last moments and if he was the last thing the man thought of. It was hours before he drifted to sleep.

He woke to the door chime. Garak wasn’t sure what time it was, but it was far too early to his mind. Still, he pulled himself from the bed, walked to the door of his quarters, and opened it with the hopes that a grumpy, tired face would steer the unwelcome guest away. The face, however, crumbled whatever bitterness he attempted to expel. The tanned features, the messy black hair, the green and brown eyes with an amber hue – they were all present in the hallway. As present as the torn and blackened uniform that graced the man’s body.

“Doctor,” Garak whispered. “How…?”

“The shuttle was attacked and destroyed by the Jem Ha’dar,” Julian answered, “The others found the wreckage and thought O’Brien and I were dead. But we managed to transport ourselves onto a nearby planet with the on-board transmitter. It wasn’t until we felt they’d gone that we turned it on. Another Starfleet vessel picked our signal up and brought us here. Sisko said he’d already released our final farewells. As soon as I was able to, I came here. He said you didn’t open your shop today so I assumed–”

Garak couldn’t hold back any longer. Relief jarred his body forward as shaken arms captured the man and pulled Julian against him. The warmth. It was real. It felt like Julian had captured a mild day on Cardassia and carried it with him underneath his natural glow. Tears welled in Garak’s eyes.

“You’re a foolish man, my dear,” Garak whispered. He tightened his hold. “Kind, but foolish, to send such a message to me.”

“Garak–”

Julian pulled back some. Garak let him. He scanned the young man’s uncertain expression for half a second before pushing forward and taking his lips. They were warm and alive, just as Julian was.

Garak intended to keep him that way.


	53. First Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, some nameless originals
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: _could you do a race swap where Bashir is this nervous Cardassian and Garak is this super chill spy tailor and Bashir gets bullied by the Bajorans but Garak saves him, also cardassians look like[subspacecommunication’s design](http://subspacecommunication.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art)_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/154456884273/ds9-gashir)]
> 
> Author's Note: There is some basic name changes. Garak’s name is now “Emil Garak” and Julian’s name is now “Jules Bashir”. While these names aren’t strict to their new races, I thought it would be far too confusing to give them completely new names. To add to that, neither character is genetically engineered and they both had similar careers in this race-swapped universe.

Emil Garak was ordered to go to Deep Space Nine. A pity. He didn’t complain aloud, but he was quite certain others in Section 31 knew of his displeasure. What he felt about the situation, however, was unimportant. He was lucky to be given a commission at all.

Section 31 operated almost unhindered, but there were certain things even they couldn’t cover. While Emil didn’t lose his life completing his last job, he did lose about a year of freedom and his Starfleet uniform. Immediately after his release from prison, he was contacted by Sloan. He was fortunate the organization was so eager to plant him somewhere else. He supposed that Sloan and whomever else fronted Section 31 felt some compensation was in order. They gave him credits, clothes, and one-way passage to the space station with instructions to give them information about Sisko, the Starfleet crew, and any other interesting tidbits he could uncover. The crew would only know the surface level information about his case, his life, and whatever career he chose. Everything else was still safely hidden in the shadows, as they should be.

By the time he arrived, Sisko and the crew were already present figures mingling in crowds. He had a lengthy meeting with the dear Commander Sisko within his first hour on the station and had a rather unfortunate meeting with Constable Odo not long after. He heard from Quark, the longtime Ferengi bar owner, that the shapeshifter was likely to keep a watchful eye on him, given his criminal past. Emil welcomed it. He said he had nothing to hide. The Constable likely didn’t believe him. That didn’t matter.

Two days after arriving, Emil opened a tailoring shop on the promenade. Although he had no pieces to showcase at first, he was immediately commissioned for a few extra Bajoran security uniforms. Rather drab pieces, but they were done within the first two weeks. He offered to make and repair other uniforms, if the need arose. They took him up on the offer. It provided him with the money he needed to buy more imaginative material for other projects. Those projects were displayed on the floor and soon caught the eyes of new customers. Special orders came in after that. Emil was grateful.

It took three weeks to fall into a rhythm with work and life on the station. Once he did, Emil took to eating out and mingling with those that purchased clothing from him in the past.

During one fated afternoon, as he ended a rather pleasant conversation with a young Bajoran woman, his hearing picked up a rather curt, hushed voice not far from where he stood. His eyes flicked towards it. It was a Bajoran man – a rather large one at that – with two others surrounding a rather thing figure at a table. Emil only had to spot the pooled, curled tail tucked under the table to understand that it was Bashir. They hadn’t met, but Bashir was infamous around the station. He was, after all, the only Cardassian there. But the young Cardassian was hardly the imposing figure that many tended to be. He was hunched over, his head down, his nose almost brushing against the table, as these three Bajoran men crowded him and spoke their minds. Emil approached.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” he asked.

Four sets of eyes flicked towards him. Silence answered at first. The largest and most vocal Bajoran inflated his chest after a moment, yet didn’t move towards him. He could be aggressive and would fight. Likely, he knew how. Emil did too. Though, he wasn’t sure this Bajoran and his companions knew that quite yet. If everyone was lucky, they wouldn’t find out.

“I don’t think that’s any business of yours,” he said.

“Ah, but you’re making quite a scene in this replimat and I would rate for Constable Odo or another security officer to spot your rather unpleasant exchange. I would hate for them to suspect the wrong thing.”

“We were just having a little talk,” the man said.

“It certainly didn’t appear that way to me. It rather looked like you were cornering the only Cardassian on the station and making him rather uncomfortable.”

Emil saw the Cardassian’s eyes flick away. The Bajorans, however, stood their ground and kept their gazes locked on him.

“He deserves it,” the Bajoran said.

“How so?”

“He’s Cardassian. That’s enough of a reason.”

“I’m afraid I have to disagree,” Emil said, “Have you ever thought that perhaps this young Cardassian is on this station for a reason? You could argue that he might be a spy, but I sincerely doubt it. It’s far more likely that he assisted your race during the occupation and the Cardassian government found it fitting to leave him here. Perhaps Major Kira will be far more knowledgeable about that, though. I believe you could ask her. In fact, I would highly recommend that you do. _Now_.”

Warning edged into that final word. It produced uncertain glances from the two silent Bajorans on either side of their broader leader who kept his gaze locked. Emil saw uncertainly waver in those brown eyes. Then he lead the two other Bajorans out of the replimat. Emil watched them leave.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Emil’s eyes flicked back to the Cardassian, who looked up at him with a somber expression. There wasn’t any sign of gratefulness scrawled across it.

“Perhaps not,” Emil answered, “But it’s done now and cannot be undone. May I?”

Emil motioned to the table. The Cardassian nodded. Emil took the seat across him.

“My name is Emil Garak. I’ve opened the sole tailoring shop on the promenade. I haven’t seen you there before, Mister Bashir.”

“I didn’t think you’d have anything for Cardassians.”

“At the moment I don’t but I could certainly make something for you. Quite a few things, actually. Perhaps something that is far more suiting to the temperature. Your clothes do not look suiting to you in this rather chilly environment.”

The Cardassian almost shivered on cue. Emil offered a small smile.

“Come by my shop and I’ll create a piece for you that will keep you comfortable.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m quite sure, Mister Bashir.”

A sliver of happiness seemed to sprout on the young Cardassian’s face. Or perhaps relief. His back straightened and his hand freed up what appeared to be a Cardassian PADD. Text was scrawled across it.

“Please, call me Jules.”

“Jules it is,” Emil answered, “And you may call me Emil if you wish. Or Garak. Whatever is more suiting to you. I don’t mean to pry, but what is it you’re reading?”

“Cardassian literature,” Jules said, “ _The Neverending Sacrifice_.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure. Tell me about it.”

Jules’s face brightened even more and he began to talk. The young Cardassian was passionate about the words, as he seemed to be able other topics. Emil hadn’t intended to make friends with him, but maybe it would be helpful to the Federation and, in turn, Section 31. Opening up the possibility certainly wouldn’t hurt, especially since Jules Bashir seemed far more likable than his shy exterior let on.


	54. A Piece Of Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Odo, Julian Bashir
> 
> Established Garashir. Making out, talks of masturbation.
> 
> Prompt: _garak catching julian in his clothes bc he and garak are almost the same height but julian is such a lanky thing n it would be ten shades of adorable_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/154495382353/if-youre-still-interested-in-promptsrequests)]

Six months away from the station, and his dear doctor, proved to be more difficult for Garak than he initially presumed it would be. He was grateful, though, that it was only six months. Given that he’d killed a number of Starfleet personnel on Empok Nor, it could have been for far longer. Having a chemical component mixed in with the violence helped shorten his stint. Pleading guilty hadn’t hurt matters either.

Garak returned to the station during the late night hours. He was greeted by Odo, who seemed happy to see him, though there was something mixed in his expression that could have doubled as concern. Garak doubted Odo held such an emotion for him, regardless of their past together.

“Doctor Bashir started sleeping in your quarters while you were gone,” Odo said. That explained the concern. Garak offered a soft smile.

“I imagine he was quite lonely,” Garak said, “We do spend quite a lot of time together when I’m on the station, Constable.”

Odo grunted in response. He knew. Likely, he knew far more than Julian would ever be comfortable with him knowing. Garak hardly kept their relationship, or any matters involving their relationship, a secret from the Constable’s prying eyes. Garak rightfully suspected that the Constable was both curious and watchful for the sake of the entire senior staff. They wanted the good doctor to be safe. So did Garak. He hardly blamed them for their rather poor attempts at spying. He simply ignored them and allowed their prying to continue. Given his absence, Odo likely continued to observe his quarters on a regular basis to ensure no one entered and took to thievery while he was away. No one but the good doctor, at least.

“I trust he’s been his usual optimistic self,” Garak said as they walked to his quarters.

Odo grunted again. An affirmation this time. Garak sighed.

“There is far too little things that would alter that dear man’s optimism, I’m afraid.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” Odo answered. Garak mulled that over for a moment. His smile faded and then returned as contentment over the idea pressed against his heart.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

They continued idle chatter about the happenings on the station in Garak’s absence as they walked to his quarters. There were plenty of stories to tell, it turned out. Though, Odo’s details were more abridged than Garak liked them to be. He could ask for specifics later, during breakfast, before the tidal wave of beings hit the promenade and busied Garak’s work day. For the time being, they would suffice.

When they arrived at Garak’s quarters, Garak thanked the Constable for the escort and promised breakfast with him soon. With a nod and a, “Welcome back,” Odo departed. Garak opened his quarters and stepped inside.

Even if Odo hadn’t told Garak of Julian’s nightly visits, Garak would have been able to tell the good doctor had frequented his quarters while he was away. Federation PADDs, small personal items, and the doctor’s dear Kukalaka were gathered on the couch in a small pile. Likely, Julian was anticipating Garak’s arrival in the morning and was only gathering the items so he could carry them back to his own quarters. Garak approached them and observed the pile for a moment.

“Garak!” a familiar, delightful, and surprise voice called from the doorway of his bedroom. Garak glanced over in time to see the outline of Julian’s body rush towards him. He opened his arms and Julian rushed into them, face brushing against his neck. The doctor’s arms rounded his back and pulled the dear, warm man closer to him. Garak held back a shiver as he circled is own arms around the man and his surprisingly baggy shirt.

“Hello, my dear,” Garak answered, unable to hide the growing smile on his face, “I take it you’ve missed my company.”

Julian lifted his head, pulled back a little, and beamed at him like the Cardassian sun.

“Only a little.”

“We both know that’s not quite true.”

Julian closed the gap again, but this time to kiss him. Garak returned the kiss with delight. It was brief, that kiss, but there were sure to be others before their night was over. Julian pulled back again.

“I wasn’t expecting you ‘til the morning,” Julian said. Garak took the chance to glance at Julian’s shirt. No, not Julian’s. Although the fabric was draped over the man’s slender frame, the shirt was clearly Garak’s own. The blacks and blues were far too familiar to his eyes. It was something that he regularly slept in even before Julian began joining him in bed. A warm piece, which Julian had paired with a pair of shorts, no doubt to keep himself cool while wearing such thick fabric.

“I was able to obtain an earlier shuttle,” Garak answered, “Which I am rather thankful for, given the state of your clothing.”

Julian looked down. He felt the younger man shift in his arms. Brown eyes flicked back up at Garak’s face, but the head didn’t tilt up with it.

“Okay, I was more than a little lonely. But your evening wear is comfortable to sleep in.”

“Is it?” Garak asked. Julian nodded. “And you want me to assume that sleeping is the only thing you’ve done while wearing my clothing?”

An unasked question crossed Julian’s lips. Before the first word could exit, the young doctor understood what he meant. His head lifted, eyes widened, mouth stood gape. He fussed in Garak’s arms.

“I wouldn’t do something like that in your clothes,” Julian said. He sounded quite confident. Garak was inclined to believe him, but that didn’t mean he would let the idea slide. He pulled the doctor closer to him again, scanning the dear man’s eyes with his own. He wanted the man to think that he was boring into his soul and extracting information just by his sharpened gaze.

“Oh? Are you certain? I would rather hate for you to be wrong, my dear.”

Julian swallowed. The doctor pressed closer against him.

“I’m sure.”

“Such a pity,” Garak said, closing the distance between their lips again but not quite touching, “You had all these months in my quarters without supervision and you chose to restrain yourself. Or, perhaps you took the time to please yourself with one of your holosuite programs.”

Julian shook his head with tiny, near jarring motions. His eyes didn’t leave Garak’s.

“It’s not the same without you.”

Julian’s words were nearly a whisper. Garak smiled. Though his gaze had been a bit predatory, he let that dwindle into a warmth he only shared with the dear doctor.

“I must confess, my dear, I’m not quite certain how I managed to capture your heart, but I am delighted that I did. It makes returning to this station far more pleasing.” Garak gave the doctor a gentle peck on the lips. “Now I do believe.” Another kiss. “We have some catching up to do.” Kiss. His hands began to lift up the back of Julian’s chosen shirt. “Some verbal, of course.” Kiss. “And some far more.” Kiss. “Physical.” Kiss. “I’ll even let you keep on my rather comfortable shirt, as you say.”

The next kiss was lengthy and ushered a moan from Julian’s throat in response. Garak smiled against his lips.


	55. The Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> No warnings. Takes place after _Doctor Bashir, I Presume_.
> 
> There is no prompt here. I just had an idea that I put into a tiny writing piece. [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/154527130088/a-random-drabble-the-monster)]

Julian hated Mary Shelley’s _Frankenstein_.

The book came up in conversation once, where Julian shared his disdain with a glare and a, “I just can’t stand it.” Of course, Garak had to read it. What he came face-to-face with was a rather crudely crafted man birthed by a scientist with the warped idea to cheat death. Garak didn’t care for the novel either, in truth, but the doctor’s clear loathing for the piece was a curiosity. It seemed like something the man would enjoy. He pressed Julian about the issue, but the man never disclosed why he had such hate for it. Garak never let it go, but never pressed the issue.

Then Julian’s genetic engineering surfaced. As more details arose about why the doctor as a young boy went through the procedure and the Federation’s rather staunch stance on the subject, Garak began to draw connections between the book and the clear disruption of Julian’s thoughts.

The night Julian’s parents left the station, Garak invited himself to the young doctor’s quarters. The man gave a deadened expression but invited Garak in. Julian was likely to speak first, but Garak hadn’t let him. As soon as he heard the door clothes, Garak quoted Shelley’s words with a clarity and precision that was only possible with the Cardassian mind:

“Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred.”

He turned and stared at the doctor’s face, at the widened eyes and slacked mouth that dared to speak but offered no words. Eventually, those eyes flicked away and to the floor.

“How many times have you read _Frankenstein_?” Garak asked.

“Twenty-seven.” The doctor’s voice carried a sheepish, muted quality that almost didn’t catch on Garak’s ears.

“You don’t actually hate the piece, do you?” Garak asked. Julian shook his head. “But you wished me to believe that you did. Why?”

Julian was silent for a moment. He swayed a little and brought his hands in front of him to pick nervously at his nails. A rather poor habit, but one Garak allowed without question.

“I didn’t want you to rip apart the only character I really connected with.”

“Frankenstein’s monster, you mean.”

Julian nodded. Garak sighed.

“My dear doctor, you cannot possibly think that you are capable of the acts that Frankenstein’s monster was capable of,” Garak said. Julian didn’t seem to respond. “While it is true that you are genetic engineered, that does not equate to you being a monster. Members of the Federation may have led you to believe so, given the affairs of the Eugenics War, but you are not those shadows of men. Even if the Federation had rejected you for such ideals upon this revelation, the Cardassians or even the Bajorans would have gladly offered you a rather pleasant medical position. You have built a rather wonderful reputation for yourself out here and those of us outside the Federation would be unwise to turn you away. It isn’t the engineering that makes you who you are, my dear, it’s how you’ve grown as a doctor and a person. I frown upon your optimism but it is a part of the endearing character that you’ve become. I would hate for you to believe that a man-made creature on a page is representative of you, especially when he’s motivated by a hatred I truly believe you could never fully understand. Not when your heart is so pure.”

The sob he got in response was all Garak needed. He reached forward, pulled the doctor to him, and let the young man cry.


	56. Intent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, mentions Luther Sloan and Odo
> 
> Established Garashir. Some violence (face hitting) and handcuffs.
> 
> Prompt: _garashir in an au where Bashir is a section 31 agent_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/154541923688/for-a-ds9-prompt-could-you-do-garashir-in-an-au)]

Julian had been deceptively clever. Garak could have applauded him if the emotional implications of his discovery weren’t so shattering. It was true that Cardassians could never trust each other, but there was always an air with Julian that Garak could never distrust. Not until he stumbled upon a message from Section 31, which he decrypted without much effort.

Garak considered his next actions carefully. He couldn’t go barreling into the man’s quarters demanding an explanation no matter how close they’d gotten. It clearly hadn’t been close enough. It was doubtful the man would share anything beyond the “I’m not a spy” routine that Garak was so apt to give when they first met. But he could hardly sit on the matter either. Julian’s Section 31 secret agent agenda had gone on long enough. There was something he could do and he knew exactly how to set it up.

The next afternoon, as he and Julian sat and continued their idle chatter during lunch, Julian mentioned again, off-hand, how nice Risa would be that time of year. It was something the young man had done almost every lunch for the past three weeks. At first, Garak had seen the continued reminders as the doctor’s desperate need to escape the Dominion War, but now Garak was acutely aware that it could be a way to drain Garak of information regarding the Cardassians and their interactions with the Dominion. Although he himself had never used the romantic route to get some information, it wasn’t beyond his understanding. Under normal circumstances, he would brush off such a reminder with an idle, “Yes, I suppose it is,” before changing the subject. This time, though, Garak took pause. Julian’s brown eyes flicked to him in anticipation.

“I do suppose a small break is in order.”

Julian beamed at him. Garak offered a soft smile in return but he didn’t feel the same joy that Julian presented. He doubted Julian felt it either. He did seem to, though, as he went on about private cabins and making a reservation. Before the day was over, Julian was able to obtain both plus a runabout for the trip. Garak faked delight. It was something he’d grown used to before but hadn’t used in some time. Julian believed him all the same.

Garak was patient over the next two weeks. He allowed the same interactions and the same emotional and physical exchanges. He even granted the man access into his quarters and ravished him in bed, harnessing mewls and gasps out of the doctor that made his breath and heart falter. In those more intimate moments, he considered the option that Julian’s secret agent role was hardly one to be taken seriously. Perhaps it was subtext in their life – there, present, but otherwise vacant in their exchanges. Given that they didn’t start their romance until their absence from the station in the backroom of the Defiant infirmary, though, Garak was skeptical of his heart’s teetering at best. Even when Julian’s eyes flicked towards him and harnessed the sleepy adoration that Garak came to admire.

The day of their destined trip to Risa, Garak played things off as normal. They climbed into the runabout, said goodbye to the station’s crew via communications, and sped towards Risa at a comfortable speed. It wasn’t until they were just out of communications range that Garak stood from his seat with the excuse to get tea, walked behind the doctor, pulled a stolen hypospray from his shirt pocket, and set it off against Julian’s exposed neck. The doctor was unconscious in less than a second.

Due to Julian’s genetic engineering, Garak had no idea how long the man would remain unconscious. He worked fast. He pulled cuffs from his luggage, carried Julian to the back lounge, cuffed his hands behind the chair back, returned to the cockpit, changed the runabout’s course to unoccupied space, returned to Julian, and waited out of Julian’s field of vision.

It was a rather lengthy half an hour before Julian lulled back into consciousness. Small movements, sounds, and twitched accompanied his tumble back. Quickly, the doctor’s motions increased in pace and alarm. His eyes and head jerked around.

“Garak?!”

He sounded panicked. Garak’s gut told him such panic was due to Julian’s concern for Garak himself. He brushed the thought aside. Likely, Julian was far more concerned about what Garak would do to him and the call was to verify that he, indeed, was responsible. After a second, Garak stepped into Julian’s field of vision. For the briefest of moments, Julian looked relieved. Then, as reality seemed to tumble against the man’s heart, Julian’s expression altered into a puzzled one that came with a slacked mouth and a furrowed brow.

“Garak,” Julian said, “What are you doing?”

“I was rather hoping you would answer a similar question for me.” His own voice was dark against his ears. He hadn’t interrogated someone since his unfortunate encounter with Odo and even then, in their solitary, Garak had not forced such a tone. Perhaps that was the reason Julian’s eyes widened in such a dramatic fashion.

“What do you mean?” Julian asked. The words fell out of his mouth without grace.

“I believe you know exactly what I mean, but if you insist on continuing this innocent ploy of yours, I will elaborate,” Garak said. He stepped closer and closer as he continued to speak. “I have made a habit of intercepting all the messages entering the station as of late. I’m afraid defectors could be anywhere, given the state of the quadrant and the war, so it was necessary. I happened across an encrypted message a few weeks ago, which had been directed towards you. I believe it was sent by a Luther Sloan and he had said something in regards to your continued work with Section 31.”

Garak was standing in front of Julian when he finished, his eyes never wavering from Julian’s steadily panicking gaze. He looked so innocent, as if darkness hadn’t quite touched his soul yet, even after the lies, the guns, the battles. Another ploy. Or Garak was truly mistaken about the doctor’s intent. The latter thought remained as he watched Julian swallow and blink a few times, as if to hold back tears.

“Garak,” Julian said. His voice was shaking. “I know how this looks, but I swear, my work with Section 31 had nothing to do with you.”

“You cannot honestly expect me to believe that.”

“Garak, please, I–”

Without hesitation, Garak brought back his right hand and struck Julian across the face. Julian’s head was jerked to the man’s left. There it stayed, with a slacked mouth and wide eyes. A second passed before the rapid blinking started again. It was fiercer this time. He truly was trying to hold back tears. It was the first time Garak felt he had truly made the worst mistake of his life.

Julian was a strong man. Given the Starfleet training, the countless battles, the fieldwork, and many other less noticeable moments, Garak was intimately aware of the man’s strength. Such a hit on a man with similar strength would no doubt merit a glare, a stiffened back, a tightened jaw. Yet, Julian’s resolve seemed to crumble under the pain. Not of the hit, though. No, certainly not. It was the pain of betrayal. It could be another rouse. Garak considered this and decided that he needed to test this one last time before fully giving into his rapidly aching heart.

“Tell me the truth,” Garak said. He forced the same darkness as before. It was far too forced this time, though, and he knew it. Yet, Julian didn’t seem to. Too enraptured in the pain, perhaps.

“It was the truth,” Julian whispered.

“You will have to give me more information than that.”

Silence. Garak knew the man wasn’t going to respond. He couldn’t. If Section 31 was anything like the Obsidian Order, Julian was bound to a secrecy that Garak couldn’t penetrate no matter what interrogation methods he took to using. The only thing continued methods would do was damage their currently fraying relationship. He mulled over options and decided his own truth was in order.

“Constable Odo and I were once in a very similar situation,” Garak said. His voice was softer. Julian’s eyes flicked towards him. The anger Garak expected was absent. Understanding and sadness had overtaken the doctor’s gaze instead. Still, Garak continued. “I believe you remember when the Constable and I left the station after the unfortunate bombing of my shop. After a rather intensive investigation, I was reunited with Enabran while with the Constable. He believed that the Constable held information regarding the defenses of the Founders and he enlisted me into finding out what the Constable was hiding. He had promised an end to my exile so I did as he asked.”

“That wasn’t in the report,” Julian said. His voice was fragile.

“Neither was what Constable Odo told me.”

Julian stared for a moment. Then his gaze wandered. No doubt he was processing this new information. With anyone else, there would be no consideration, but no doubt Julian knew just as Garak did what was truly on the line. But Garak knew that Julian’s consideration wasn’t for his own safety. No, he was debating how forgivable Garak’s actions were. Garak waited and hoped.

“Section 31 found out about my genetic engineering while I was still a cadet,” Julian said. His gaze didn’t reconnect. “Sloan offered to keep my engineering a secret if I became an operative. He said all I had to do to start was purposely miss an easy question on my final and became salutatorian. I did. Then he asked where I wanted to be stationed. I insisted on Deep Space Nine. I wanted to be positioned there anyway, but I thought the distance would also prevent me from doing missions for them. That didn’t work out. I was sent undercover a lot. Many of my medical conferences were missions in disguise. It was just easy to excuse myself from the station under the rouse of medical work.”

Julian paused and shifted. Still, his eyes never turned to Garak.

“After my genetic engineering was revealed, I told Sloan I wanted out. He came to the station and talked with me in private before the Dominion took it over. He promised repercussions if I stepped away from Section 31. I’m assuming that’s why he’d sent that message to begin with. If he hadn’t wanted you to find it, he would have been far more secretive about it.”

There was no doubt in Garak’s mind that Julian was telling the truth. It wasn’t trust that forced the doctor’s hand, though, but desperation. He could see that in Julian’s steadily narrowing gaze. If Garak pressed the issue, no doubt emotional pleas would follow. Pleas of forgiveness, of mercy, of emotional attachment. Julian truly did love him and it was likely the Section 31 work prevented him from saying so all this time. The genetic engineering reveal was fortuitous then, for the both of them.

Garak rounded the chair and unshackled the cuffs. The good doctor brought his hands in front of him but remained seated, his gaze still averted. Garak went back to his front, knelt down, and gathered Julian’s hands into his own, checking his wrists for damage as he spoke.

“It is quite likely that this Sloan character will amount to far more dangerous methods to keep you in Section 31,” Garak said, “I am willing to help protect you, if you will allow such a thing.”

He looked up. Julian’s brown eyes finally glanced towards him. A relief surged onto the doctor’s face which dared to release the tears that built up against the earthen irises.

“If you don’t mind,” Julian said.

Garak leaned forward and kissed his dear doctor on the cheek, exactly where he’d struck the man moments before. Julian didn’t wince away. Still, Garak pulled back and offered a smile.

“I’m afraid I detoured our runabout,” Garak said, “But I believe we can make it to Risa in a timely fashion. We may be able to excuse the delay on starting our little vacation early, if you do not mind telling such a lie. I believe I can make it worth your while.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Excellent. Why don’t you set in the coordinates and I’ll grab the medical kit. I would like to tend to the injury myself, since I was the one who rather foolishly caused it.”

“You don’t have to do that, Garak.”

“Perhaps not, but I wish to. If you would much rather tend to the wound yourself, I will let you.”

“No,” Julian paused. A small smile formed on his face. Garak hadn’t known that he was longing to see such a thing until it began to blossom and light up the young man’s features. “I’ll let you. But I also want kisses once your done. And maybe before.”

“I believe that can be managed.”

Julian’s smile grew. The force of the blow made it a little lopsided, but they would tend to that soon. For the moment, Garak closed the gap between them and pressed a gentle kiss against the man’s lips. The contact was warm, as it traditionally was, but this time it carried a lightness and sincerity that Garak hadn’t felt from the doctor before. No doubt the secrets held back some of Julian’s affection. No more secrets, Garak thought. It made his spirit lighten as well. Perhaps that’s why the doctor moaned.


	57. Winter Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak
> 
> Established Garashir.
> 
> Prompt: _can you do 42 (“You look cute when you’re cold.”) winter prompt with Garak and Bashir?_ \-- for a Tumblr prompt meme [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/154565835168/can-you-do-42-winter-prompt-with-garak-and-bashir)]

Julian promised to see his parents once his father was released from prison. When he made the promise, he had not anticipated Garak would join him. Although they had the framing of a romantic relationship at the time, Julian, in truth, hadn’t expected it to last or grow as strong as it did. But when two years passed and Julian was making preparations for his trip back to Earth, Garak was not only still with him, but quite eager to go.

“You really want to come with me?” Julian asked, his hands frozen over his open luggage which held folded clothes and other possessions that he had to take but wouldn’t need in the morning.

“I would not insist if I didn’t wish to come with you, my dear,” Garak answered, “Would you rather I remain on the station?”

“No, I’m just… surprised, that’s all.”

“I chose you over Cardassia, my dear. Surely it cannot be that surprising.”

Garak had never so bluntly stated that before. Nor had Julian fully considered that. He weighed Garak’s intent to go far more seriously then. This wasn’t just a fling. Julian had become Garak’s family, even if they had not gone through a traditional bonding ceremony yet. And given the state of Cardassia, Earth was likely to become Garak’s new home once Julian returned there himself. Seeing his family and that world was another step in solidifying that. Julian didn’t argue after that. In fact, he encouraged Garak’s presence and sent a message about it to his parents immediately, both of whom were delighted to welcome him as well.

The trip to Earth was pleasant enough for Julian, but Garak was on edge. Julian could see the man fuss and mumble the entire way. He was sure most of it was due to the cramp space, but some of it had to be anxiety. Julian did his best to ease his partner without seeming overbearing. Garak seemed to appreciate it. That was something, at least.

They arrived on Earth without incident. Winter clamped onto the London air and greeted them with a gust that bit against Julian’s face. He shivered. Immediately, his mind turned to Garak. He flicked his eyes and caught the Cardassian nearly stopped in the doorway of the shuttle, head bowed, eyes closed. Julian walked over to him, took off his Starfleet jacket, and tried to cover Garak’s larger frame with it.

“I’m sorry, I forgot it was winter,” Julian said. Garak shivered against his touch. “There’s going to be some coats and scarves inside. Come on.”

Julian ushered Garak into the building. They were enraptured by the heat. Julian felt Garak shudder next to him, grateful for the unnatural warmth. Yet, the jacket stayed around him. A superior officer, a lieutenant, and a cadet were there to greet them. Given Julian’s position and Garak’s Cardassian blood, that wasn’t a surprise. Julian signed that they’d arrived and asked for clothes that Garak could borrow to better face the winter cold. The superior took them to clothing storage where Garak was able to choose from some less official but still warm clothing. They were left alone as Garak fished through the options.

“I can’t say they’ll be flattering,” Julian said, “But you’ll at least be warm. There should be a coat tailor in London. We can get you a nicer coat there.”

“I must ask,” Garak said, pulling out a few plain black, thick coat options and examining them, “It is always so unpleasant?”

“No,” Julian answered, “It’s only the time of year and the location. There are far warmer places. I’m sure my parents wouldn’t mind if we transported to one for a day or two.”

Garak tossed a coat away, handed Julian is Starfleet jacket uniform, and shrugged the chosen piece on. It was baggy against him, but Julian could tell from there that it was designed for far cooler climates. It was exactly what Garak needed. He zipped and buttoned it up all the way, moved about, and then started rummaging through hats and scarves.

“And I’m to assume that winters do not get much colder than this,” Garak said.

“Actually, they do,” Julian said, “It’s barely below freezing right now.”

The noise Garak made reminded Julian of Quark; it had a darkened, frightened quality to it that immediately jarred against Julian’s heart. Julian knew that cold was lethal to any race, but he’d forgotten how accustomed to the warmth Cardassians were. Likely, Garak had never seen snow, let alone explored the possibility of running around in below freezing weather. He offered a small smile that Garak didn’t see behind his search for proper warmth.

“All the buildings have heating and there’s a transporter less than a block away from my parents’s home,” Julian said, “You’re going to be fine.”

“I may be fine, my dear, but it will be thoroughly unpleasant for me to go outside for extended periods,” Garak said, bitterness tainting his words. He wrapped a thick, white scarf around his neck which would easily cover his nose and mouth once they left the building. “I cannot imagine how your race survived in such atrocious environments.”

“I could say the same about Cardassians and the extreme heat.”

“I suppose you could.”

After a moment, Garak tossed on a rather tacky but likely warm hat. The mild glare that finally flicked his way accompanied by the haphazard choice in clothing made Julian smile. He walked over.

“You look cute when you’re cold,” he said.

“Please refrain from making this moment worse than it already is,” Garak answered. Julian chuckled and wrapped his arms around Garak’s shoulders. Garak unconsciously moved towards him.

“You know, there are birds that migrate to warmer climates when winter comes around,” Julian said, “We could do that too, if we ever moved to Earth. Just have two homes and go from one to the other depending on the time of year.”

“That seems rather troublesome.”

“But we could make it work.”

Garak sighed. There was a hesitation there. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to call Earth home after all. In truth, neither was Julian. His life was on that station so many light-years away. No doubt Garak felt the same way. Julian gave him a kiss.

“Wherever we live, I promise it’ll be warm,” Julian said, “Even if it’s not on Earth.”

Garak smiled softly at him.

“My dear, anywhere I live with you is bound to be warm.”

Julian’s smile grew.


	58. Relapse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Warnings for addiction, drug abuse, and relapse.
> 
> Prompt: _Garashir prompt: Garak relapses with addiction_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/154659853998/garashir-prompt-garak-relapses-with-addiction)]

It had been three months since the wire was shut off. Garak counted the days as victories at first, but as the weeks wore on and each new mark was tallied in his mind, the lines became more jagged, more etched, more desperate. They weren’t victories anymore. They were marks made from agony and despair – two far too familiar mentalities which surged back into his darkened, unaltered mind.

Although Deep Space Nine was a Cardassian built space station, it hardly resembled anything of his home. The occupants, though familiar, were strangers to his customs and culture. They valued him to some degree, but harbored no love for his land and his kind that resided on it. He understood, but that hardly curbed the loneliness he felt. He tried to find some solace in the conversations with Doctor Bashir, but the man, though a distraction, was hardly one to concern himself with the truth behind Cardassian works. The Federation had tainted his mind far too early and spilled an innocence into his thoughts that was amusing, but unwelcome in most instances. Even with their weekly lunches and the doctor’s insistence on helping him through his recovery, they were no more closer than they had been. He was still playing the role of the secret agent and Doctor Bashir was the amateur that was becoming far too involved in his personal life. It wasn’t a true connection. He remained isolated.

It was the worst at nights, when the chilled station and too bright lights followed him to his quarters. When tucked in the solitude of his own quarters, he could dim the lights and increase the temperature, but it was never enough to keep him comfortable. There was an air – constant and foreboding – that encircled his far too clear mind and reminded him of his exile. There was no escape in this unchanging realm. There was only seclusion and unfulfilled wishes for immediate change.

That’s what called him to the infirmary.

It was late on a sleepless night when the idea of the infirmary visit first appeared. _No one would be there_ , Garak thought, _It would be simple to slip into the room and take a single dose. Perhaps the doctor would not even notice the absence for quite sometime._  He disregarded the thought then – it was a momentary desperation, hardly worth his consideration – but the idea remained an ever-present companion on the nights when insomnia grated against his Cardassian resolve.

After one of those disastrous nights, Garak dragged himself to his shop, dimmed the lights enough to be suitable but still comfortable to his potential customers, and attempted to lose himself in his work. Most days, any work would be sufficient enough to block out the imposing reminders of his isolation, but that day, as he teetered on the edge of sleep depravity and emotional draining, he found the suggestion of the infirmary more and more appealing. By the time he returned to his quarters for the evening, his mind was practically begging for some form of comfort. His solitary bed wasn’t enough. He needed something more.

Garak waited until the 0200 hours to slip from his quarters and duck into the engineering shafts. Although the night crews were around, Garak had unlocked the evening schedule and looked at all of Starfleet’s plans for the evening. Although the infirmary wouldn’t be empty, Garak would easily be able to drop into the storage area, grab a dose of the drugs he needed, and climb back up unobserved. And, with no error, that’s exactly what he did. Only, instead of one dose, he took three. _There will be other nights like this_ , Garak reasoned before tucking back into the engineering ducts and snaking his way back into his quarters.

That night, he gave himself one of the three doses. The second dose he took four days later. The third he attempted to save, but it was clear to him and his spiraling mind that he needed more and taking them from the infirmary wasn’t an option.

That’s when he went to see Quark about the matter.

As the promenade was closing and only ten minutes before Constable Odo would arrive, Garak poked into the Ferengi’s bar and asked the lone bar owner if obtaining something similar to this Federation painkiller was a possibility. Quark, to his credit and Garak’s happiness, insisted he could obtain the real thing from several buyers. They bartered on price, Garak paid him for thirty doses in advance, and the deal was struck. The drugs arrived with a fabric shipment and a disguised request. Quark’s idea, no doubt. Garak truly gave the Ferengi too little credit.

Those thirty doses lasted him three months. The next thirty lasted one and a half. The next only lasted a three and a half weeks. The next, two weeks. The next, one week and four days. He had been using some free money to pay for the drugs in the beginning, but the fourth payment cut into his business funds. The fifth was taken out of that entirely. It was likely that he wouldn’t be able to keep the doors open if his rather destructive habit continued. He had attempted to stop on his own while some of the drug still resided in his quarters, but withdrawal blasted his unsettled mind and sent him recoiling back to the drug that he had grown attached to. There was no stopping. He had to extinguish every last shard of latinum he had to maintain the habit.

Or… _or_ …

He had four doses left. Garak considered contacting Quark about replenishing his stock, but he knew that such action would deplete the little funds he hand left. The fabrics he needed would not fall into his hands and his special orders would be forced to wait indefinitely for their goods. It wasn’t their disappointment that steered this new idea into his head – it was the awareness that the collapse of his business would mean the end of his life. There would be no funds, no connections, no return to Cardassia. There would only be the drug-covered despair and the thievery of the infirmary which would no doubt happen once that final supply ran out. He brought the hypo to his neck ready to drown the concerns that rattled in his mind and paused.

He couldn’t do this. Not again.

With the new resolve, he gathered the remaining doses, left his quarters, and traveled to Doctor Bashir who was in his quarters. Garak hoped he was alone. He pressed the door crime and immediately heard a polite, “Come in,” from the other side. He opened the door and stepped in.

Doctor Bashir had indeed been alone. Given the absence of his Starfleet jacket but the remaining gray undershirt and uniform pants, the man had gotten off-shift not too long ago. He was standing in the dining area, hands on a PADD, eyes focused towards him. A small smile and furrowed brow welcomed him first. The doctor’s voice came soon after as he rounded the table.

“Garak,” he said, “Are you alright?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Garak tightened his right hand. The hypospray fills that were tucked between his fingers and palm clanked together, which altered Bashir’s gaze. Garak hesitated before holding out his hand and depositing the hypo and the remaining doses into the doctor’s fingers. The doctor examined them before looking towards Garak’s face.

“How long have you been taking this?”

To Garak’s surprise, the young man didn’t sound angry or confused. Perhaps the good doctor knew far more than Garak had expected.

“Around six months.”

“How often? How much?”

There was a raise in Bashir’s voice. Again, no anger. Concern heightened the volume and pitch. Garak thought of batting around the answer and making a game of the whole situation, but his drained mind and need for comfort limited his answers to the truth.

“I have been taking 30 milligrams every evening for the past three weeks.”

The doctor’s eyes widened then.

“Garak, taking 40 milligrams at once would’ve been lethal.”

“I’m afraid that hadn’t occurred to me.”

Bashir hesitated and sighed. His eyes flicked back to the medicine.

“Why are you coming to me now, then?” Bashir asked, looking back towards him, “If you’re not worried about your life.”

“On the contrary,” Garak answered, “I am worried about my life. I had not started this habit to eliminate myself. Rather, I had wanted to provide myself some comfort during my solitude but these methods will not allow me to maintain my shop or livelihood.”

After a moment, Bashir nodded.

“Okay, well, we’ll have to go through the entire withdrawal process again before we can focus on building up healthy habits. I can give you something for some of the symptoms this time. You still won’t be able to work, but it’ll help you sleep and keep down food.”

“How long will it last this time?” Garak asked.

“A week or two,” Bashir answered, “It’s hard to say. Changing your habits will take longer but if you come to me when you’re not feeling well, I can help you without you turning to Quark for drugs.”

Garak blinked.

“You were aware of my arrangement with Quark?”

“No, but if you had to get drugs without me knowing, you’re going to get them through Quark,” Bashir said, “Now, I need to go down to the infirmary and some of the medication you’ll need to get through withdrawal. Then we can swing by your quarters and gather some of your belongings. You’ll stay with me this time. You can sleep in my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch. In the morning, I’ll talk with Chief O’Brien about adjusting my quarters to suit a more Cardassian environment. Tonight, we’re just going to worry about you getting some sleep.”

“Doctor, I really don’t think staying in your quarters is–”

“Garak.”

A firmness was there. A caring, strong firmness that went beyond the medical requirements. They were friends in Bashir’s eyes, no doubt. Perhaps more. He could see the emotional spark there, lingering just beyond the brown irises that scanned Garak’s face. That look was foreign to Garak, as was anyone’s need to care for him. Yet, Bashir exhibited both with no filter. _Run_ , a darkened voice in Garak’s mind whispered. He considered it. But his body was drawn to that friendly face and all Garak could manage was a lean against the man’s body and a light grasp around his torso. Bashir returned the hug without hesitation.


	59. Mirrored Interest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Mirror!Kira Nerys, Kira Nerys
> 
> Warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of rape, mentions of death, psychological manipulation, chemical manipulation, near non-con
> 
> Prompt: _Could I prompt a pairing between Kira and her alternate universe counterpart? When they met the first time sparks really flew, maybe you could write about them meeting again and experimenting further._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/155108387168/could-i-prompt-a-pairing-between-kira-and-her)]

The Intendant got what she wanted. She _always_  got what she wanted. And since she laid eyes on her other counterpart, the Kira in red, she wanted her. So she was going to get her.

After weeks of searching, she found a Terran with enough intellect and common sense that was willing to build what she needed without question. She had to eliminate a less than promising candidate right in front of her first, but once they were taken care of, the Terran provided her with the engineering and medicinal services that she needed. The device was built, demonstrated, and provided to Intendant Kira with no resistance. The Intendant gave her a permanent, promising position on Terok Nor with the intent of using her again. Then she left Garak in charge and transferred herself to the other universe without effort.

She arrived without fanfare. How delightful! She would be a surprise then. She walked into the habitat ring, searched about for where this Kira’s quarters were, and slipped inside without triggering the alarms. It was fortunate everything was so familiar, otherwise entering the private quarters unannounced would have been far more problematic.

She took her time to search the place. It was empty and far too plain for Intendant Kira’s liking. Clearly they did not share the same taste in decor. But it did have a rather homey feel that her quarters lacked. She could easily still get comfortable within the familiar walls. She sprawled herself out on the couch and waited as she idly toyed with the small Terran designed remote. She examined the buttons and felt the sleek design roll against her fingertips. Though part of her thought of switching it on and enjoying the atmospheric endorphin booster alone, she knew it would be better to wait until this universe’s Kira arrived back at her quarters. So, she tucked it along one of her leather belts and waited.

It took hours. Likely this Kira was just as busy as she would be back on Terok Nor. A pity. But the door did eventually open and this universe’s Kira stepped through the threshold without effort. The door closed behind her.

The Intendant sat up on the couch and crossed her legs.

“It’s about time you got here,” she cooed, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her counterpart froze. The Intendant hadn’t ever seen such a surprised expression on her own face, but oh, what a wonderful expression it was. It made the Intendant smile and brush her upper teeth against her bottom lip. Then she stood and advanced, her hips swaying as she slowly edged towards her same-faced companion.

“Oh, come now, Major,” she said, “You can’t be that surprised to see me.”

Major Kira’s surprise melted into anger.

“What do you want?”

The hate-filled passion that marred those words was a tone quite familiar with Kira. Such a tone would have resulted in punishment for anyone else, but the Intendant had no intention of punishing this young woman. At least, not today. She had done nothing to deserve such a fate. Yet.

“I thought I would pay you a little visit.” The Intendant stopped mere centimeters away. Major Kira didn’t back away. Good. “I have missed you since your last visit and I thought you would feel the same way.”

The major scoffed.

“Right. You want me to believe that you just came here because you missed me.”

“Why wouldn’t I miss you?” the Intendant asked as she reached her hand forward. “You are me, after all. Or the closest thing to me.”

Her fingers brushed momentarily against Major Kira’s jaw. The major slapped them away almost on contact. The Intendant froze for half a second, only to hold back the open hand she wanted to send rocketing towards Major Kira’s face. Instead, she stepped back a few centimeters and retrieved the remote her Terran scientist has built for her. She flashed a grin.

“I forgot. There was to be a certain… atmosphere for this moment of ours,” she said. Then she flicked the switch. Chemicals drifted from the small device and wafted into the air between them. Her heart raced, eyes dilated, body eased into a more comfortable state that drove two previous encounters. She saw Major Kira’s body respond in kind, though her body and mind seemed a little less malleable than her own. The second of her two test subjects was the same. She wasn’t worried. She stepped forward again and brought her hand to Major Kira’s face. This time, it wasn’t batted away when her fingers made contact with her jawline.

“What did you do?” Major Kira asked. There was a sedated anger laced in those words. The Intendant knew that she would give into her touches soon enough.

“I introduced some chemicals,” she explained, “Nothing serious. It will take some time to wear off, though. So why don’t you and I find some way to fill the time. I have a few ideas in mind.” Her fingers moved to Major Kira’s lips and brushed against them. She watched those lips open just enough to reveal the edges of white teeth. “It would involve some personal experimentation but I believe we could both enjoy it. I mean, haven’t you ever wondered what it was like to have _fun_  with yourself?”

The Indentant chuckled. She felt Major Kira tremble against her touch.


	60. A Little Taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, Miles O'Brien
> 
> Alcohol mentioned and very light drinking. Developing Garashir.
> 
> Prompt: [This Tumblr post](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/154055297328/fuckyourstupideyebrows-vulcannic-i-had-a). [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/155112333478/hey-its-past-you-again-you-were-tagged-by)]

Garak woke up alone.

He was fully aware that he’d gone to bed alone, but the dream he arose from had involved such a wonderful partnership that waking up in the dark, cool isolation was anything but appealing. His heart careened and sank into his stomach only to settle and twist apart in the bile residing there. He hoped it wouldn’t reform during the course of the day, but he knew it would. It always did the moment he laid his eyes on the doctor responsible for this pitifully lonely morning. He could never have the man, as Doctor Julian Bashir was far too fond of women to be interested in Garak, but he would still flutter about in some rose-tinted daze anytime the dear doctor came into his line of sight. Luckily, he had become rather experienced at hiding his emotions over his lifetime. The good doctor would never find out unless Garak wished him to.

Perhaps it was time.

This was the forth time in the last week he’d dreamed of being with the doctor beyond the boundaries of their friendship. This last one involved watching a delightful Cardassian sunset under the shade of the wild spires that covered portions of the desert. The sky was painted reds and oranges, which had turned the doctor’s tanned skin into a muted desert brown and felt as warm as the Cardassian sand beneath them. Garak brushed his hand against the doctor’s, caught the man’s brown eyes, and edged his lips towards the young man’s. They were cool. They were soft. They were–

Not human.

Garak had never kissed a human before. The feeling of their lips was a mystery to him and would likely remain that way. There was no use dwelling on the matter so early in the day. It would only taint was delight was waiting for him later.

With a sigh, Garak rose from his bed and started his morning routine five minutes early. He ate breakfast alone, as his weekly breakfast with Constable Odo wasn’t until the next day, and then arrived at his shop with some extra time. He started his work when he arrived. There were little visitors in the first half of the day – a typical morning – so he was able to finish a special order and start another without interruption. A lonesome morning turned into a productive one. That was the least Garak could hope for.

As twelve-hundred hours neared, Garak paused his work, packed his supplies, and left his shop. As he was locking the doors, the tanned doctor from his dreams rounded the corner.

“Right on time, I see,” the doctor said, the warmth of his voice lifting and shattering Garak’s heart all at once. Still, Garak offered Doctor Bashir a normal and complacent smile.

“I am always on time, my dear doctor. It’s you who is less than punctual.”

“I’m on time now, aren’t I?”

“For once.” Garak stepped away from his shop doors and they progressed to the replimat side-by-side. “But one time hardly strips away your repeated tardiness on previous lunch arrangements.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I believe I’m always right.”

“Now _that_  is quite a leap, Garak.” The doctor’s words came out in a playful tone. It was one that Garak welcomed. It meant that their typical lunchtime debate was on the horizon. Garak internally prepped himself for it as Julian inhaled. It took less than a second. In that time, a voice called above the crowd.

“Julian!”

Garak reeled in a sigh as he and Doctor Bashir turned towards the source. Chief Miles O’Brien jogged through the thin crowd and joined them. He gave a polite nod to Garak, which Garak returned, before he turned his attention to Doctor Bashir.

“Keiko called. She says that she’s going to be coming to the station in two days. I’ll need to cancel on our holosuite time. Sorry.”

“That’s alright, Chief. Your family’s more important. We can be pilots another time.”

Chief O’Brien smiled.

“Thanks Julian. I got to get back to work. You two enjoy your lunch.”

“We will,” the doctor answered, “Give Keiko my regards.”

“I will!”

And Chief O’Brien walked away. Garak looked towards Doctor Bashir, who motioned towards the replimat. They continued their walk as if the interruption never happened. Well, almost.

“I was not aware you were using the holosuite for piloting,” Garak said, “Doesn’t the station have enough shuttles for such things?”

“It’s not that kind of piloting,” the doctor said, “We play the roles of two pilots that fought during the Battle of Britain in 1940. We fly airplanes, not spacecrafts.”

“I’m to assume such a battle was victorious for your side.”

“Yes, but we always lose people. We drink in tribute in Quark’s but synthehol is never as good as the real thing.”

“I’m afraid I would not know.”

Doctor Bashir stopped. Garak stilled a step after and looked at the doctor’s slackened face.

“You haven’t had real alcohol before?” the doctor asked.

“No, I haven’t.”

Doctor Bashir smiled. It was a bright then that eclipsed his entire face. Garak’s heart nearly jolted into his throat.

“I only have one bottle of real alcohol right now. It’s like cherry Smirnoff, but it’s actually red instead of it being clear. I’ll bring it by your shop when you’re closing tonight so you can try it.”

“Doctor, that’s not–”

“I insist.”

Garak didn’t always consider Doctor Bashir to be a stubborn man, but he certainly had his moments. This was one of them. After a second, Garak relented and allowed the evening arrangement. They continued to walk and enjoyed their lunch as they always did. Garak covered his affection for the good man under a veil of intellect. Then they parted ways and agreed to meet at Garak’s shop around twenty-hundred hours.

The afternoon went by slowly. There were hardly any walk-ins; it was a relief given his workload but it seemingly made the minutes drag against the winding clock. He longed to see the doctor again. In that longing, and in the attempt of drowning out his own misplaced affections, he finished his second special order of the day and started on a third. He was halfway through it when the evening alarm chimed. The promenade was preparing to close. He gathered the third order and packed it away safely before doing the same with his materials. He hung the two finished orders in the back. As the second hit the rack, the shop doors opened.

“Garak?” Doctor Bashir called.

“Just a moment, Doctor,” Garak answered. He brushed his hands along the smooth fabric to rid it of temporary wrinkles before venturing back into the workroom and show floor. Bashir was there, two glasses in one hand and the bottle of red alcohol in another, and he was beaming. The young man’s smile sent his heart soaring.

“For a moment, I thought you got impatient and left,” Bashir said, walking over to the shop counter.

“My dear doctor, I would never leave due to your current absence unless I believed your life was in danger. Now, I believe you wished me to try this.” He motioned to the bottle. Doctor Bashir set the glasses down on the counter as Garak approached. It took a second for the young man to break the seal and pop off the lid. Once he did, a small pool of red liquid spilled into one of the glasses.

“I thought I’d try it first, just to show you it’s not poisoned,” Bashir said, “I know how you are about trusting people with your food and drinks.”

“I hardly think you would be the one to poison me, Doctor, but if you insist on going through such measures, then by all means.”

Doctor Bashir closed the bottle, set it aside, and then picked up the glass. He drank half the contents, swallowed, and sighed. Red tinted the young man’s lips and the scent of cherries wafted off his breathe. Garak nearly teetered towards both as his mind recalled the desert dream, the warm hands, the gentle kiss. Bashir seemed oblivious to Garak’s mental process as he smiled.

“It really does taste like cherries,” Bashir said, “Even Smirnoff doesn’t come quite this close.”

“May I?” Garak asked.

“Sure.”

Bashir moved the glass towards him. That’s initially what Garak intended to take. However, the pull of the dream and his momentary desires overrode that safe alternative. Although this motion could hurt their delightful friendship in the short-term, Garak knew silence on his affection could inflict pain on his heart permanently. So, his hand reached for Doctor Bashir’s jaw instead. His fingers brushed against the smooth skin and eased the doctor’s face closer to his own. With his gaze froze on those slackening red lips, Garak inhaled, taking in that delightful cherry scent and whatever else lingered against the doctor’s breath.

“It certainly smells pleasant,” Garak said. His voice was nearly a whisper. He could see Bashir’s throat bob as he swallowed. Garak’s eyes flicked up. Bashir was staring at him, those brown eyes of his losing their color as the black pupils expanded. “My dear doctor. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you want to kiss me.”

“I’ve wanted to for a while now,” Bashir whispered in return.

Garak’s heart nearly yanked itself from his chest. He could hardly believe the man said it. He hoped his hesitation didn’t give away his surprise because his face certainly didn’t. He’d interrogated far too many others to allow his own emotions to surface.

“Even when your affections lie with women?” Garak asked.

“I’m bisexual,” Bashir answered before he swallowed again. “I just… don’t find men who want to be with men very often.”

Garak hummed. His eyes flicked back towards those red tinted lips again. Then he closed the gap and kissed him without a sound.

Julian’s lips were warm. Just as warm as he was. His dream had lied.

That was likely not to happen again.


	61. Exchange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Richard Bashir, Elim Garak
> 
> Warning for imprisonment.
> 
> Prompt: _a little short of Gashir, except its like beauty and the beast and Julian's the confused Beauty wanting to save his dad, and Garak is the beast_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/155294085598/i-love-your-gashir-posts-i-was-wondering-if-you)]
> 
> Extra Notes: This is a Disney-esk Beauty and the Beast AU that's set in an older Syria, around the time period that the Disney Beauty and the Beast was set.

Julian arrived at the castle without realizing what it was.

Kukalaka, the family horse, brought him here with the intention of showing him what had happened to his father while they were on route to Damascus. Hours away from their home, off the main road by several miles, resided what looked to be a pristine castle with marbled pillars and stone archways that stretched across the front. Doors and arched windows peered towards them, but gave no signs as to where his father was, or if he was inside at all. Curtains blocked a view inside, not that it mattered from their distance. Kukalaka had stopped outside the open gate and his wailing told Julian that he wasn’t intent on going any further.

Julian eased off the horse, pet the side of his neck idly, and then headed onto the castle grounds. Sand covered the grounds, save for a small oasis just to the right of the gate, which let grow palm trees and grass and other vegetation that seemed untouched by the sandstorm that had likely charged through the same day his father arrived at the castle.

With no hesitation, Julian walked to the front door and opened it, peering inside. The front hall was just as nice as the outer shell – red carpet started at the door and worked it’s way up the stairs. It split of as the stairs did, allowing the person to choose one of two directions they wished to go. They both headed to the same floor, but different sections of it. Sand spilled onto the carpet near the door – it was opened during the storm, likely – but there wasn’t enough to show him where is father would have gone, if he had gone inside anywhere.

Still, Julian stepped through the front door and eased the door shut behind him.

“Hello?” he called. No answer.

He stepped further in and peered around. Off the carpet path, on either side, were large sitting areas that pointed towards the outside lawn. The one to his right showed a clear view of the oasis and Kukalaka, who remained outside the gate, his loyal, unmoving eyes on the castle. Julian smiled softly at the familiarity before facing forward and heading up the stairs. He opted for the right path and made it to the second level.

The walls were lined with art and paintings unfamiliar to Julian’s eyes, despite his father’s architectural work and interest in the arts. Each work looked old and depicted cities and landscapes with construction unlike the human ones he was familiar with. He gazed quickly at each piece as he passed them, unable to fully taken the craftsmanship. He never would get the chance. Part of him hated that and another part was grateful for it.

Between the splitting stairs a hall directed him straight into the heart of the castle where a spiral staircase guided him, likely, to one of the three towers that had stretched towards the darkening sky. He frowned and headed up the stairs, eyes up, pace set to a jog. His steps were light and hardly echoed against the stone work.

Eventually, he began to hear something. He wasn’t sure what it was at first. The further he went, though, he realized that it was someone yelling. After a few more jogged steps, his mind was struck with clarity.

It was his father.

Julian ran up the rest of the stairs. The voice became clearer and clearer the farther he went. The screams were words, and they were begging some unnamed person for freedom. He ignored the implications of that, made it to the top, and let his eyes soak in the dimmed space.

The top of the tower had one holding cell. The door was shut. There was only a small window at the bottom of the door, which had bars to hold the prisoner inside. The prisoner in question was his father, who’s hands latched onto two of the bars. Julian surged towards him, knelt, and placed his hands on the stubbier ones. They were freezing.

“Jules,” his father whispered. His voice became raspy from all the screaming. Julian reached towards the man’s face and brought his long fingers to his forehead. He was running a fever. He needed medical help. Julian could offer that back at their home, where he’d left all his herbs and potions, but they had to leave first. “How did you find me?”

“Kukalaka brought me here,” Julian whispered back, drawing his hand out from the holding cell. “Hang on. I’ll open the door and then we can leave.”

Julian moved to stand, but a hand clasped onto his left shoulder, turned him, and slammed him against the wall next to the holding cell. He gasped, cringed, and tensed. Then, his eyes opened.

In the dark, he couldn’t quite make out who, or what, had been responsible for the violent shift, but whomever it was stood before him like a giant, it’s form too ridged and tall to be anything close to human. It’s structure almost mirrored those of the figures shown in some of the chosen art pieces on the lower floors.

“Ah, a valiant hero coming to save his trespassing companion,” the creature said. It’s voice was a little higher pitched than Julian expected it to be, but it was no less menacing. He pressed himself against the stone wall and straightened his back.

“He’s sick,” Julian said, “If you don’t release him, he’ll die.”

“That would be rather unfortunate if that wasn’t my intention,” the creature said.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am quite serious. And now that you’re here, perhaps I’ll let you join him. I have yet to see how two humans handle themselves together. It should be rather enjoyable to see the outcome, I think.”

Julian’s heart thrust into his throat. He swallowed it down.

“Please, let him go.” Julian shifted to his knees and bowed, his nose nearly touching the stone flooring beneath him. “I’ll do anything you ask. Please.”

“Why would you sacrifice yourself for him?” the creature asked.

“He’s my father.”

Silence. For a moment, Julian thought he’d made the situation worse. He didn’t want to lift his gaze, though, because he didn’t want to show the creature defiance. His father needed help. That was his only concern.

“I will accept this exchange only if you promise to remain in this castle forever.”

Julian lifted his head a little, but didn’t look up. Stay here. Forever. His years as a healer would be over. There would be others in Al-Qisa, but he still would miss the families that sought his services and the children that brought him flowers in thanks. He would miss helping the elders and providing peace to those who had lost. He would miss his home, his people, his heart. But it would be worth it, if he could save one last soul.

With sincere brown eyes, Julian lifted his head and answered, “I’ll stay here forever if you release him.”

The creature smiled. It was a broad, terrifying thing that showed the beast’s sharpened teeth even in the dark. He moved towards the door and opened it. Julian’s father spilled onto the stone before scrambling to him, his cold fingers taking Julian’s.

“Jules, you can’t do this,” he said, his voice quick and soft, “I’m old, I’ve lived a good life. I can stay. Please, leave, go live your life.”

“Father, it’s all right,” Julian said, offering a smile of his own, “I already promised.”

“Jules–!”

Before they could say anything else, the creature picked up Julian’s father and carried him away.

“Wait!” Julian called, climbing to his feet. He didn’t dare follow the creature as he descended the stairs. He didn’t want the beast to think that he’d changed his mind. He peered into the cell, saw a barred window that faced out into the front courtyard, and ran to it. Sure enough, moments later, the beast emerged with his father struggling in his arms. Kukalaka screamed out in fear and nearly turned away. The beast shoved his father out of the gate, shut it, and locked it, trapping him and the horse out. With growing sadness and isolation, he watched his father climb onto Kukalaka’s back. A moment later, they were leaving, the horses gait quickly getting them out of Julian’s line of sight. Julian remained at the window and watched them, even when he heard the beast return to the space outside the holding cell.

“Some would call you foolish to make such an exchange,” the creature said.

“Maybe,” Julian answered, “But he’ll live now.”

“And that’s enough for you?”

“It’s more than enough.”

Silence. Julian turned to look at the creature that took up most of the doorway and some space beyond it. Despite the dimming outside light, Julian was finally able to fully see the creature’s face. He managed to hold back the gasp that wanted to escape his mouth, but not the wide-eyed stare.

The creature was a Cardassian.

Julian was told that all the Cardassians had died. Yet, here was one standing before him, it’s large frame covered in gray scales that gradually turned blue around his neck ridges, fingers, and forehead. Matching blue eyes pierced through the darkness.

“You’re…” Julian started, but his whispered voice died against his lips. The Cardassian grinned.

“Yes, I’m a Cardassian. Your father had been just as surprised at this revelation. Some humans seem to believe that we’re all dead. Rather unfortunate considering there are still quite a few of us left, though we are quite scattered across this desert that your people have so desperately tried to claim.“

Julian stepped closer once, twice, and then closed the gap between them so he could closely examine the Cardassian’s face. Scales. All scales. Julian read European stories about dragons that breathed fire and protected princesses in far off towers. The Cardassian was that, then, but a far more human version. He wanted to touch those scales and see if they were cool or if, in some way, the Cardassian held warmth closer to something human.

“Is there a problem?” the Cardassian asked. A darkness entered his voice again. Sometime during this visual exchange, the Cardassian had quit smiling. Julian blinked and immediately stepped away.

“No, I’m sorry, I was just… admiring your scales.”

The Cardassian blinked. Julian adverted his gaze and stared at the floor. He wasn’t sure what to expect from this creature, but given the stories he’d heard about Cardassians, it couldn’t be good. Then, it sighed.

“Allow me to show you to your room,” the creature said. Julian looked up again as the Cardassian left the doorway.

“My room?”

“You don’t want to stay up here in the tower, do you?”

“No.”

“Then come.”

Julian hesitated before he left the cell. He followed the Cardassian down the stairs and onto the second floor. The pace they took along the hall through the east wing was slower, which allowed him to admire the paintings and other artwork a little more closely. It wasn’t human then, these pieces. They were likely Cardassian. More reason to inspect them with a curious eye when time allotted for such things.

Then, the Cardassian stopped. Julian nearly ran into him. He looked up to see the creature had turned to face him. Julian blinked up at the creature’s face and then looked at the floor again with a soft apology. Silence again.

“You are quite interested in Cardassians, aren’t you?” he asked. Julian nodded. “Why?”

“I like learning about different cultures and people. It’s just… fascinating.”

Julian peered up again. The Cardassian was examining him with a closeness that Julian hadn’t seen before. Likely, there weren’t very many humans that crossed his path that were like Julian. Maybe he was the first.

“Jules,” the creature said. Julian blinked. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“It’s Julian, actually. Jules is a nickname that my parents gave me.”

“Julian,” the Cardassian repeated. “You may call me Garak. After I’ve shown you to your room and you’ve grown comfortable, perhaps you would like to join me for dinner. I would be delighted to share some information about Cardassians with you, since you are so intrigued.”

For a moment, Julian couldn’t tell if this Cardassian, Garak, was serious or not. But he wasn’t about to turn down the offer when he was being so hospitable. He even managed a polite smile.

“I’d like that.”

“Excellent.”

Garak turned and continued walking again. Julian watched his tail shift back and forth against the carpet before he followed, his eyes turning back to the Cardassian art.


	62. Adrenaline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak
> 
> Mild warnings for health problems and fainting.
> 
> Prompt: _I was thinking about the scene in the unicorn and the wasp where Donna says "big shock coming up" and kisses the Doctor. I was thinking it would be great to have this sort of scenario with Garak and Bashir (either way), but somehow they figure out their feelings and fluff ensues. (not an au, just a similar situation)._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/155353158063/ds9-prompt-im-not-sure-if-youve-seen-doctor)]

No one was dying. There was some good news in this at least.

Three human Starfleet officers had collapsed in the last twelve hours. Upon examination, Julian determined each one suffered from a sudden bout of bradycardia. The slowed heart rate would have killed them if Julian hadn’t injected them with a boost of adrenaline and provided them with a temporary pacemaker. All three felt fine after that initial treatment and two insisted on returning to work. Yet, they all remained in the infirmary per Julian’s orders as he tried to figure out what caused the bradycardia and whether it would be a long-term condition or not.

He’d been struggling to find the answers for hours. The blood work and body scans came back normal for each of them. There were no introduced foreign chemicals, no sudden muscle defects, and no changes in the body’s electrical network. Julian scoured the scans and test results again and again to ensure that no abnormalities were tucked away somewhere in the numbers and displays.

“I believe you told me once that working too hard was rather bad for one’s health,” a voice said. The familiarity and light tone of it was welcome in the infirmary’s sleepy silence. Julian looked from the display to see Garak walk through the open infirmary doors. Despite the late hour, the Cardassian didn’t look tired. He likely didn’t feel tired either. Julian smiled softly, grateful for the company and the incoming energy, though it was more docile than his own. Garak was always welcome, even as just a friend.

“Normally your work doesn’t involve saving people’s lives,” Julian said.

“True, though I cannot imagine such hours would help you or your patients. You can be quite resilient, Doctor, but I’m certain that even your genetically altered brain would grow weary due to such strenuous use.”

“I’ve worked for longer periods before.”

“I don’t doubt it. But a small break would be suiting, perhaps. It would allow you to return to your work with a clear mind once I depart.”

“Did you have something in mind?” Julian asked. In truth, he was suspicious of Garak’s insistence on a break. Julian had late nights before – some far longer and far darker than this one – yet this was the first time Garak came for such a visit. Perhaps he was attempting to fish something out of the infirmary, or even out of Julian. Perhaps he was lonely and looking for company. Perhaps this was a game, a trick, an amusement to pass the late night hours since Garak knew Julian was likely to suspect him of something. Perhaps it was nothing but a simple conversation, though that wasn’t likely. Nothing about Garak was simple.

“Oh, I believe a small discussion would suffice. I had just finished that rather dull Cervantes novel that you had brought up multiple times in conversation and I believe that would be a rather delightful to discuss.”

Julian sighed.

“As much as I would love to get into a literary discussion with you, I really don’t have the time. I have work to do.”

“Indeed you do. But a small trade of opinions will hardly take up any time at all.”

“Garak, there is no possible way our conversations about _Don Quixote_  will take up less than an hour’s time. The novel is arguably one of the most influential pieces of fiction in Earth’s history.”

“That certainly explains why much of your race’s literature is rather bland.”

“I really don’t have time for this right now.”

“Come, Doctor, surely a few minutes–”

Whatever argument Garak attempted to make was lost to Julian as the room faded and spun. His right hand pressed against the console unconsciously as his heavy body buckled his knees and pitched him forward. For a moment, an unconscious black was his only companion. Then, as his back pressed against something, the world came back to him. It was the ground, he realized, as the cold hand the guided him there cradled either side of his head. Julian’s eyes flickered. Garak’s blurred face came into view in flashes.

“Doctor, what do you need?” Garak asked.

Julian’s sluggish mind couldn’t provide the answer for a moment. He wasn’t even sure what was wrong. Then the patients, the heart problems, the implication came rushing to him and his mind screamed for one thing.

“Adrenaline,” he whispered. He reached his hand up to point where a vial of it could be found – stowed in the medical supplies at the other end of the room – but his motion was stunted by a pressure on his lips. It took a second for him to realize who, and what, was responsible.

It was Garak. He’d closed the gap between them and planted a firm kiss onto his lips.

Julian’s heart jolted and rattled against his ribs. His eyes flicked open. Clarity filled is vision and took in the close scaled that edged away as their lips disconnected. He sucked down a breath as Garak’s eyes open and a strong, knowing gaze stared back at him. There was silence for a moment and Julian’s mind scrambled around the moment. Had that really happened? Had Garak really kissed him? After all this time fantasizing about it, had Garak actually–?

“Surely that isn’t all you need,” Garak said.

Julian’s mind steered back to the medical matters. That’s right. His heart. The adrenaline rush wouldn’t last forever. Likely, if he stood, it would wear and he would collapse again. Garak would have to get the pacemaker for him. Luckily, even in his state, placing it over his heart shouldn’t be a problem.

“In the storage area, there’s a small gray box on the third to bottom shelf next to three bottles filled with blue liquid. In the box are temporary pacemakers. I need one.”

Garak stood and headed towards the storage as Julian unzipped his uniform jacket and undershirt. When Garak returned, Julian took the device, placed it over his heart, and typed in the information necessary. The small black device started pumping his heart then, through his skin and ribs, as it was designed to do. The regulated pace eased Julian. He closed his eyes, placed his head on the ground, and let out a soft sigh.

“Thank you,” Julian said.

“You’re quite welcome, Doctor,” Garak said, “Now if you would be so kind as to zip up your uniform. It is rather unsightly to see you this way.”

Julian opened his eyes. Despite his words, Garak was still staring down at him, those blue eyes of his clearly showing no signs of looking away. Under most circumstances, Julian would have obligated. After that kiss, however, fulfilling Garak’s request could wait after a tiny bit of teasing.

“You look like you’re enjoying the view,” Julian said, a smile growing on his face.

“I would rather like it more if I was allowed to touch, but you would never allow such a thing.”

Julian blinked. His smile faded.

“What?”

“Oh, come now, Doctor, surely you’re aware of my feelings for you.”

Julian sat up. The motion was far too quick and another wave of dizziness hit him, though not nearly as bad as before. He would remind himself to be careful later, when his heart wasn’t straining against the pacemaker in an attempt to increase it’s own tempo. Julian’s mouth opened, shut, and opened again as Garak’s scaled brow furrowed together.

“Are you serious?” Julian finally managed to ask. Garak stared. Silence. Then a sigh escaped the Cardassian’s mouth.

“Yes, I’m quite serious.” There was more irritation than anything else in Garak’s voice. “Really, Doctor, after Lieutenant Dax spoke to me about the matter I thought you would have been the most aware of my infatuation with you. You are the one who spends the most time with me on this station, after all.”

“Is that why you came by?” Julian asked, his voice moving as quickly as his mind, “Is that why you were so determined to have a conversation about _Don Quixote_?”

“Yes. It’s also why I had read the entirety of the novel over a four week span. After you had spent so much of your time reading Cardassian literature, I thought I would return the favor and display some interest in your culture. Part of me believed that displaying such an interest would, perhaps, be a bridge towards a different sort of interest.”

Julian would have expressed surprise in Garak managing to read _Don Quixote_  in a month if his thoughts weren’t so enraptured around this new revelation. Garak liked him. No, Garak was _infatuated_  with him. It was so noticeable that Jadzia spoke to him about it. Who else knew and didn’t tell Julian? More important, what could he do with his information now?

Before his thoughts could come up with a solid answer, Julian’s body responded. He stood and lunged towards Garak, his arms wrapping around the Cardassian’s shoulders. Garak staggered back but managed to stay standing.

“You can’t judge me for not noticing your interest since you didn’t notice mine,” Julian said. He was trying to tease, but there was too much delight intermingled in his words. He almost bounced as he pulled away some, but kept his hands on Garak’s shoulders. There was a stoic expression staring back at Julian. It didn’t last. A small, warm smile tugged at Garak’s lips as hands pressed against Julian’s waist.

“Perhaps I can’t. I can still judge you for refusing to present yourself in a professional matter in your own place of work.” Garak’s gaze flicked to Julian’s chest again. Julian’s eyes turned there was well. Then his own hands got to work zipping up the undershirt and jacket as Garak’s fingers remained on his waist. “I can also judge you for your insistence on working instead of having a rather delightful conversation with me. Perhaps if you had spoke about literature instead of insisting on working, you would not be in the state you are now.”

“Maybe,” Julian said as he finished fixing his uniform. “But if I hadn’t fainted, you wouldn’t have kissed me, would you have?”

Julian looked up. Garak’s soft smile turned into a grin.

“I’m afraid that’s something you’ll never know the answer to.”


	63. Truth Be Told

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir - mentions Benjamin Sisko, Odo, and Jadzia Dax
> 
> Warnings for main character death, explosions, and bombs.
> 
> Prompt: _if Julian was dying and he asked to see Garak on his deathbed and Garak cries because it's too soon and at the very last moment he tell Bashir how he feels and Julian dies with a smile_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/155381329248/hi-could-you-do-a-little-shorty-on-garak-and)]

By the time Julian Bashir was transported to the infirmary, it was too late. The only thing that kept him alive and aware was life support, which set the pace of his lungs, his heart, and his mind. Without that artificial rhythm, he would wilt like the Romulan flowers that wilted in the cool air away from Garak’s touch.

Garak heard the news from Constable Odo – ever the reliable source. Without making eye contact, Garak questioned the Constable about the matter. There was an explosion in the young man’s quarters. A bomb, planted by one of the Cardassian shadows that stepped through the station halls during the Cardassian and Dominion occupation. There were no answers as to who planted the device, but he and the constable were aware that it was done on purpose and Julian – dear, sweet Doctor Julian Bashir – had been the target. After a lengthy silence, Constable Odo explained that Julian wanted to see his friends, to voice his admiration, before he died, and expressed an interest in seeing Garak. Garak could only nod. Then, the constable left Garak’s shop and returned to the solemn promenade walkways, no doubt to return to his own office and continue his investigation – one they both knew Garak would be a passionate pursuer of.

For the moment, though, he had other matters to attend to.

After five minutes of breathing and a gentle pace through the back room, Garak left his shop and entered the infirmary. Lieutenant Dax and a Bajoran nurse stared his way, aware of his purpose but not the weight of his heart. At least, not fully. The nurse escorted him to the back examination room without a word and motioned him inside.

Julian was lying down, his brown eyes open, his chest lifting and falling at a smooth, designed pace. The young man’s gaze turned from Captain Sisko, who was standing at Julian’s other side, to Garak. A soft smile spread on the dying man’s lips.

“Garak,” Julian whispered. Garak was drawn closer by the familiar gentle nature the boy carried. “I was beginning to wonder if you would come.”

Garak reached the young man’s side.

“And miss another delightful conversation with you?” Garak asked, a smile of his own forced onto his lips, “I’m afraid you could never be that lucky, my dear doctor.”

Julian managed a chuckle. Garak saw the shadow of Sisko drift away. Julian’s smile seemed to go with it.

“I’m sorry, Garak,” Julian whispered.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing, my dear doctor,” Garak said. “I’m afraid you being in this state may be connect to me. I have admired you far more than a dear friend should for quite some time and there is a possibility that I did not hide it as well as I had hoped.”

Julian’s typically quick mind sluggishly processed Garak’s words.

“You mean… you love me?”

“I have grown to, yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Julian asked.

“I had not wished to ruin our friendship over the matter. You were always such delightful company and being able to sit in your natural glow was enough.”

A smile reappeared on Julian’s face. It was such a bright thing, despite the doctor’s poor condition. It did nothing to change it, though. Garak could see the life support wouldn’t hold up much longer.

“I looked forward to all our lunches,” Julian said, “Always.”

“As did I. It was an honor to sit with you, Doctor Bashir.”

“The honor is mine, Mister Garak.”

It took one last second, one last breath, and then Julian’s eyes faded and the dear doctor was gone. Garak stared and waited for the gentle smile to fade. It never did. Garak stepped away from the table, out of the infirmary, and headed towards his quarters. He needed to breathe, to grieve, and then he would focus on tearing apart the souls that dared steal that dear light away.


	64. Adjustments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, mentions of Chief Miles O'Brien
> 
> Brief mentions of the wire and withdrawal.
> 
> Prompt: _So you know how in The Wire Garak mentions how it's too cold on DS9 and the lights are always too bright? wouldn't it be cute if after that Bashir makes an effort to fix the environmental control in Garak's quarters so he's more comfortable?_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/155433008888/so-you-know-how-in-the-wire-garak-mentions-how)]

Garak’s door chime sounding as an unpleasant disruption to his early evening in. He would have much rather spent the next six hours alone before he pulled himself to bed. Clearly whomever resided on the other side of that door – no doubt the good and patient Doctor Bashir – had different plans. Garak placed his PADD on the table and stood, hands running over the front of his day wear to alleviate any wrinkles that formed as he sat on his couch and read.

“Come in,” he said.

The door opened. As Garak suspected, Doctor Bashir was on the other side. In his hands looked to be a small engineering kit. When he stepped through the newly opened room, the door closed behind him.

“Sorry to bother you this late,” Bashir said.

“If you were truly sorry, you would not have bothered arriving, not that I am against your presence in this moment.” It wasn’t entirely true, but Julian had grown used to his half-truths and full-lies over the past year and he still managed to keep his youthful optimism. He wouldn’t take the statement to heart. “Now, what brings you here this late hour? A house call, perhaps?”

“No, not exactly,” Bashir answered. “You told me that the station was too cold so I thought I might try to fix the environmental controls in here so it’s more comfortable for you.”

Garak paused and then smiled. Oh, what a thoughtful young man. The doctor always had been but Garak had not truly appreciated it until his wire was shut off and that torturous withdrawal period was over. It was a shame the doctor’s kindness would be for nothing. Adjusting the environmental controls was one of the first things Garak had attempted to do once the Bajorans gained control of the station. If he hadn’t been successful, it was unlikely anyone on the station would be either. He thought to say so. Truthfully, he did. But the thought of watching Doctor Bashir struggle with something above his expertise was something Garak could not resist.

“How kind,” Garak answered, hiding his initial rejection under a light tone. “There are times I truly underestimate how far your kindness extends, Doctor. You are more than welcome to make an attempt, though without engineering experience, I’m afraid the task may prove to be difficult for you.”

Bashir walked over to the wall where the environmental controls were tucked away and opened the engineering kit to grab a screwdriver.

“I took some engineering extension courses at Starfleet Academy,” Bashir said as he started taking off the wall panel. Garak moved to the dining table and sat down.

“Really? That hardly seems useful for someone studying medicine.”

“I wanted to be prepared for anything.” Bashir took the panel off the wall and set it on the table. Garak could see the controls inside – ones he almost broke in his attempt to fix them the first time. Likely there were still some loose pieces attached to the small device after he’d grown impatient and attempted to punch the machinery into compliance.

“You may just be.” Garak paused as he leaned his chin against the palm of his hand. “Tell me, my dear doctor, what topics were discussed in these engineering extension classes of yours?”

“Starship engineering, mostly.” Bashir placed the open engineering kit on the table with the cover before turning back to the console with his screwdriver. “But Chief O’Brien fixes the station all the time. I imagine some of the components are similar.”

“Ah, indeed. Perhaps they are.” Garak knew they weren’t at all close, however, and the fact that Chief O’Brien managed any sort of upkeep on the station was the closest thing to a miracle that Garak had ever witnessed. The man had a gift that the dear doctor clearly underestimated. Now Garak was delighted that he invited the man in.

Silence settled between them and Bashir dove into his chosen work. Garak observed the small motions that he’d never cared to notice before – the small press of the man’s lips, the extension of just the tip of the man’s tongue through them, the narrowed eyes, the blackened color they seemed to take on the longer the good doctor remained focused. Then his gaze flicked to his chest, the curve of his spine, his tall legs, then back towards the man’s face to see if his skittering gaze had been discovered. It hadn’t been. The doctor remained poised and attentive only on the machinery that likely seemed less and less fixable by the second. Still, those steady hands worked.

“There’s some loose components in here,” Bashir said. “I bet if I tighten some of these things up, I could–”

There was a metallic twang. Something small flung itself from the compartment and popped Bashir in the face. He recoiled, lowed his head, and let out a soft, surprised cry as his free hand brushed against the hurt skin. A hiss began to fill the room. Garak rushed to Bashir’s side, knocking over his once occupied chair in the process.

“Doctor, are you all right?” Garak asked as he attempted to peer at the doctor’s new wound. Bashir’s hand lifted away. The young man’s gaze went with it. It gave Garak the chance he needed to examine the cut skin and the inflammation that had already begun. Not deadly. No, certainly not. But it was possible for the young man to have a fractured or broken bone just under his right eye. Going to the infirmary would be in order. Unfortunately, that would have to wait.

Garak’s attention turned back to the environmental controls. The hiss he heard was combined with a cloud, a coolant, by the feel of it, which began to escape into the room. The unknown shard that assaulted the good doctor appeared to be a screw, which dislodged itself from it’s proper place because of Bashir’s tinkering. Garak knew that his previous attempt at fixing the environmental controls had contributed to the screw’s sudden ability to replicate a high-speed projectile. Luckily, the damage to the unit was fixable with the right tool.

Without a sound, Garak reached over to Bashir’s tool kit, pulled a small welder from the contents, pressed the exposed metal together, and ignited the small flame. The drifting coolant vanished as the small parts were stitched back together, their hold far better than the screw had been. He turned off the welder and brushed his hand over the fix. No air escaped. It would do until he had a chance to speak with Chief O’Brien about the matter. For the time being, he placed the welder back into the engineering kit and turned to face Doctor Bashir, who traced his fingers along his right cheekbone and frowned.

“Perhaps it’s not as easy as you believed,” Garak said.

“I suppose not.” Bashir seemed to whine as he spoke. It took everything Garak had to hold back a smile. “I’m sorry, Garak. I just wanted to help.”

“It’s quite all right. You certainly tried. I will speak with Chief O’Brien about the matter tomorrow. I mean this in no offense, Doctor, but he is the most qualified engineer on the station. And the least likely to be hurt by attempting repairs.”

Bashir nodded. His gaze dropped. Garak smiled then. He was careful to not show his amusement.

“Now, I believe we should get you to the infirmary so you can tend to your own wounds.”

The doctor nodded again. He went to the table and picked up the cover, no doubt to replace it.

“Leave it, Doctor. Chief O’Brien will have to remove it when inspecting the controls anyway.”

Bashir looked towards him. The browns and greens of the man’s eyes returned in his widened gaze. Then, the doctor turned to the kit and packed it before heading towards the door. Garak followed him out. As the quarters door shut, Garak walked at Bashir’s side through the habitat ring hallway.

“I will have to tell Chief O’Brien the details of this unfortunate circumstance,” Garak said.

“He’s not going to let me live it down,” Bashir murmured.

“Ah, but you had attempted the repairs for such good intentions,” Garak said, “It would be rather disagreeable for him to fault you for your rather poor engineering skills when you went through the process for such a noble cause.”

“You’re not going to let me live this down either, are you?”

This time, Garak didn’t shield his amusement behind a soft smile.

“No, Doctor, I’m afraid not.”


	65. Best Served Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: _can u write about garak breaking into julian's holosuite program only to find out that julian is ice skating?????_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/155445751308/can-u-write-about-garak-breaking-into-julians)]

Doctor Bashir’s last costume request had been rather odd.

For one thing, this was the first time in almost a year the request was for one costume. For another, the materials and design were rather questionable at best. The fabric choices started fine – black to navy to royal blue stretch jersey and spandex – but then drifted into sheer body stocking that showcased the doctor’s mid-chest and collarbones and edged towards his pectorals like the flames of a enthusiastic blue star. Embellishments of crystal-like sequins were skittered across the torso only to collect near the collarbone and along the shoulders. When he’d finished the piece, Garak looked at it with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Then the dear doctor tried the piece on.

“It’s brilliant!” Bashir had called before he even stepped from the dressing room. The moment he did, Garak realized how astounding his work truly had been. The piece, though still rather gaudy, accentuated the doctor’s thin figure in a way that broadened his shoulders and elevated the curve of his behind, not that Garak took notice of the latter too often.

The doctor twirled once, grinned, paid, changed, and left, garment in hand.

Over the next few days, Garak became more and more curious. He went to speak with Quark about the matter, but the Ferengi bar owner said he hadn’t seen the piece walk through the doors. In fact, the only thing he’d seen Doctor Bashir wearing besides his uniform was his Royal Air Force jacket – another piece that Garak meticulously designed. Though, the program he’d asked for wasn’t the piloting one, nor was Miles O’Brien with him. After a little persuasion, Garak was provided with the next holosuite reservation time Doctor Bashir had – the next morning at 0700 hours.

Garak arrived at the holosuite at 0705 hours. He wore his typical clothing, unsure of what might be on the other side of the door. After inputting the correct codes, Garak slipped through the holosuite door in triumph, ready to see what the doctor was doing with his professionally crafted wears.

Cold greeted him. Bitter, scale turning cold. Garak shivered and crossed his arms over his chest in a feeble attempt to shield his hands from the onslaught of piercing air. He closed his eyes, dipped his head, and shuddered. His body begged him to leave and yet his curiosity demanded he stay. The costume was not designed for such a climate. If Doctor Bashir was truly wearing that costume in this cold, Garak wanted to know why.

After a moment, Garak lifted his head and opened his eyes. Around him were empty bleachers, all circled around a large, white arena of some kind blocked off by a chest high wall of some kind. A figure was standing near an opening in that wall, hands poised on either side. It was Doctor Bashir, though his only certainty about that came from the gleam of those sequins Garak had stitched on his new outfit only days prior. Bashir hadn’t noticed him. Instead, he remained still on that opening for a moment before pushing himself off and entering the white coated flooring. The man glided across the surface on silver blades. The sound was sharp, yet not unpleasant against the bitter air. Bashir lapped around the surface once, then twice, before stretching his arms out and leaping off the surface. He twisted once in the air, elegant and light, before landing with just as much grace back onto the white.

Garak stepped closer. His blue eyes took in the doctor’s swift, polished motions as the man skated around the surface, arms twisting, extending, legs stretching, kicking, body twirling, sparkles glistening, fabric shining. What glamour that outfit gave Bashir in the shop was nothing compared to this dance. It showcased not only the good doctor’s figure, but also his flexibility, his agility, his athletic abilities, all without ripping or taking away from the man’s natural looks.

By the time Bashir’s eyes found him, Garak had descended halfway down the bleacher steps. The doctor stopped as quickly as possible and glared as harshly as the bitter cold.

“Garak!” The doctor’s voice echoed in the empty arena. “You know it’s illegal to break into someone’s holosuite!”

“Ah, but I’m afraid my curiosity over my work overtook my rather limited care for such matters.”

“One of these days I’m going to turn you in to Odo,” Bashir said as he skated to the barrier between them.

“Oh, I sincerely doubt that.” Garak didn’t walk any closer. “But it hardly matters. I have seen quite enough of this. I must go to my shop and prepare for the day.”

“But your shop doesn’t open for almost an hour.”

“Quite right, but I do have matters to attend to before I am able to open.”

There was something knowing on the good doctor’s face. In that, there was an unpleasantness. Garak truly had nothing to do before opening. All the matters had been attended to the previous evening because he wanted to utilize as much time as he could spying on the good doctor. He had not anticipated the holosuite being so cold, however, and his lack of discussion on the subject likely raised Bashir’s suspicions. He was becoming more tactful, after all, despite his rather abrasive optimism.

“But you worked so hard to get in here,” Bashir said, “You have to stay and watch the show at least.”

“If you’re talking about your incessant twirling, I assure you–”

“There’s more to it than that,” Bashir said with a growing smile. “Plus you’ll be able to see the true intent for your work.”

Garak still didn’t move. Bashir sighed, but his smile didn’t go away.

“Computer,” Bashir said, putting out his arms, “Create an electric blanket, queen-sized.”

Within a second, a soft looking material appeared in the doctor’s hands. He extended it to Garak without any other sound. Garak descended the rest of the stairs and took the strangely warm material from Bashir’s fingers. He wrapped himself up in the material and almost sighed, grateful for the sudden and complete warmth.

“You really should have prepared for the cold,” Bashir said.

“I hardly anticipated that a costume like that would be used in an atmosphere like this.”

“Costumes like these have been used in figure skating competitions for centuries, and all those competitions are done on ice.”

Ice. Well that certainly explained the temperature. Garak tightened the heated fabric around his body.

“Seems rather unpleasant,” Garak said.

Bashir’s smile grew. Garak watched the doctor drift away from the barrier and skate across the ice in a smooth, large lap. “Computer,” Bashir called as he edged himself to the center of the arena, “Start music.”

Bashir stilled in the middle, his head lowered, arms tucked in. The music started. Garak was unfamiliar with the piece – no doubt it was some ancient Earth instrumental – but it sounded pleasant, soft, almost docile against his ears. Bashir’s motions were small at first, matching the pace the music gave. But as the seconds grew and the music swelled, the doctor’s motions, twists, and twirls became more exuberant, more lively. Soon, the double twist jumps and dramatic, multi-rotation twirls matched the doctor’s natural energy which was only expounded by the blues and blacks and bright sparkles that stretched across his limber body. The song hit one last crescendo as the doctor’s body came in and twirled before sprouting like a tree with arms extending and fingers open. He stopped with the music, both of which seemed as natural as the ice dance itself. Still, it took a second before Garak began to applaud. Bashir gave a dramatic bow before skating over to the barrier.

“That was a rather excellent display, my dear doctor.”

“Thank you.” Bashir was smiling despite some labored breaths – another natural component of such a dance, no doubt.

“Are you planning on entering one of these competitions you spoke of?”

Bashir shook his head. “I’m not good enough.”

“Clearly you haven’t seen yourself perform, Doctor.”

“Trust me, Garak. There are plenty of better figure skaters than me. I can show you some recordings of current performers if you want proof.”

“Only if we’re allowed to observe them in some place that is far warmer than this.”

“I can adjust the temperature settings.”

“Then I would be delighted to observe some of these recordings in your company.”

“Do you want to make a reservation for that or are you just going to barge in during my next reservation?”

“Oh, I suppose I should make a reservation. I’ll pay the whole costs, even. Consider it a repayment for interrupting you during your solo experience. How does tomorrow evening at 1900 hours sound?”

“Sounds fine.”

“Excellent. Then I’ll speak with Quark about the matter. Enjoy the remainder of your time, Doctor.”

“I will. See you tomorrow, Garak.”

Garak nodded and headed up the stairs. He would have taken off the blanket under normal circumstances, but he needed the warmth to follow him until he excited the holosuite and the fabric naturally drifted away. The air of the cool station was unpleasant, but it hardly hampered the warmth against his heart.


	66. The Chameleon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: _julian introducing garak to some kind of earth reptile_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/155491361353/idk-if-im-doing-this-right-or-not-but-could-i)]

The moment the doors opened, Garak could tell Julian Bashir was walking through them. Though his steps were light, Doctor Bashir’s limber figure and pace generated a footfall as familiar to Garak as the man’s voice and smile. It was something Garak would always allow to enter his shop, even while he was attempting to close it.

“Garak,” Bashir called, likely aware that Garak was in the backroom placing some unused cloth back in storage, “I want to show you something.”

“Just a moment, Doctor.” Garak closed the cloth bin and stood. He gave the backroom one last scan and ensured everything was in place before stepping back into the lobby of his shop. The moment he laid his eyes on the tall, tanned man, his gaze flicked to something completely unfamiliar. So unfamiliar, in fact, that Garak didn’t even have a word to describe it.

Resting on the doctor’s uniform clad shoulder was some type of navy blue animal. It appeared to be a lizard, but it’s bulbous eyes with rather small pupils were too alien to be anything from Cardassia. It’s fingers, if the small digits on it’s bent, slender legs could be called such a thing, were clinging to the material as it’s body pressed against the good doctor’s neck. Garak stepped closer to get a better look, and his advance was met with the doctor’s familiar and kind smile.

“May I inquire as to what, exactly, this is?” Garak asked.

“It’s a chameleon. A female Furcifer verrucosus, to be exact. She’s a type of Earth lizard.”

“And how did you obtain such a creature?”

“Constable Odo got a tip from someone that a collector of stolen goods was arriving on the station. He had the man’s ship searched and found her in it, along with various stolen goods. She should be in with the evidence, but since she’s alive and Odo didn’t know how to take care of her, he left her to me for the time being.”

“I take it she’s a rather rare specimen on your planet,” Garak said.

“Not really. It’s likely she was just a pet to him.”

“That explains why she’s rather fond of you, I suppose.”

“That’s actually because of my heat, most likely. Chameleons don’t create body heat. They have to get it from other sources. That’s part of the reason I’m here. I reserved a few hours in the holosuite while Chief O’Brien sets up an enclosure for her so she won’t die on the station. I was going to take her into my Arabian prince program and turn the story off. I thought you might like to join us.”

Garak looked at the doctor and offered him a soft smile.

“I’d be delighted. When does your reservation start?”

“In about five minutes.”

“Ah, then why don’t we head there now? I’m quite certain that with a little persuasion Quark may let us in early.”

Doctor Bashir agreed. Garak closed up his shop and they made idle conversation until they arrived at Quark’s. They paid the Ferengi an extra strip of latinum, retrieved the program, and headed up to the holosuite. Bashir input the program and they stepped inside.

Garak hadn’t been in this particular program before, but he was immediately delighted that he’d agreed. The heat was so pleasant, so welcoming, that Garak could have laid out and basked underneath the artificial sun. It wouldn’t be like the very few carefree days he had on Cardassia, but the similarities would have been more than enough.

He was so caught up in the heat, he hadn’t noticed there were others in the room until Doctor Bashir ushered them away with a, “Computer, only run the atmosphere and setting.” Whatever figures had been there were lost, driven away by particle effects that dissipated a mere second after Garak glanced over. Where they had been were two large, sprawling couches with a myriad of pillows and other pleasantries that Garak didn’t particularly care for. Between those couches was a table decorated with bowls filled with Earth foods which were no doubt edible, to a certain degree, but held no interest in Garak’s mind. The rest of the room – if the outdoor area could be called such a thing, was veiled in thin curtains which let in some sunlight, but covered the rest of the space in a shade that took away some of the warmth he craved.

Once Bashir headed towards those couches, Garak followed.

“What do you think?” Bashir asked, jerking some of the curtains open next to the couch to let the golden rays spill onto the cushions.

“The temperature is quite pleasant,” Garak said, “But I’m afraid the decor could use some work.”

“It’s supposed to fit the time, Garak.”

“Another era with a distinct lack of taste, then. Really, Doctor, you should entertain yourself in settings that are far more tasteful.”

Bashir scoffed. Garak took the time to peel back more of the curtain and reveal a desert terrain, complete with a small village with domed homes and pillared builds, all of which seemed small in comparison to the height at which their outdoor area sat.

“Is the story for this setting as poor as the decor?”

“It would be in your opinion, but I like it. I’ll explain it to you, but first, could you hold her?”

Garak turned. Bashir’s hand was outstretched and the nameless chameleon was settled inside it, the creature’s tail slowly circling the good doctor’s wrist. Garak hesitated for a moment before extending his own hand. He expected the creature to come willingly. Instead, Bashir had to push it along. Eventually, the chameleon settled in Garak’s fingers, it’s fingers laced around his as that tail wrapped around his wrist instead. Garak brought it into the sunlight to better examine her scales. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the young doctor unfastening his uniform jacket.

“I live as a prince in this palace,” Bashir started. Garak listened, but kept his eyes focused on the creature, which didn’t move under the sun’s rays. “My role here is more diplomatic than the other holosuite adventures I take on. I speak with the village people, help distribute goods, regulate trading with other villages, grant access to the healer, and so on.”

“And I suppose women are involved in this rather domestic adventure of yours.”

“Yes, but not in the typical sense. I’m supposed to be picking a wife that will be my queen when I inherit the throne.”

“How charming.” Garak didn’t mean it. He made sure his tone was clear on that matter. He could hear Doctor Bashir’s argument on the matter, but the words didn’t register. As the doctor spoke, Garak witnessed the chameleon change colors. The navy hue it had taken on shifted into something lighter. “Doctor. I don’t mean to interrupt, but I believe something may be wrong.”

There was a pause. Garak saw Bashir approach out of the corner of his eye.

“No, she’s fine,” Bashir answered, “Chameleons change shades depending on their body temperature. She’s getting warm, so she’s becoming lighter so some of the sun’s rays reflect off her body. In this sunlight, she could turn completely pale.”

“How peculiar.” Garak meant it this time. There was a pause.

“Do you want me to take her or would you like to hold her longer?” Bashir asked. Garak peered up at the doctor’s face before looking back at the creature.

“Oh, I do believe I could hold her for a little longer, if you don’t mind, Doctor.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

Garak smiled softly.


	67. A Lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Established Garashir. Post-series.
> 
> Prompt: _Garak singing Julian to sleep, maybe after a rough day in the infirmary._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/155577517948/prompt-garak-singing-julian-to-sleep-maybe-after)]

Garak knew by the sound of Julian’s steps that his dear doctor had a rough day. The normal light air they took on was damped by a hefty weight that only accompanied the man’s slender figure when the hours rolled by far too slowly and the figures lingering in the station walls pressed heavily on his rather narrow shoulders. That’s why Garak didn’t hesitate to leave their bed and venture into main area of their quarters. Julian was at the replicator then, making his usual cup of Tarkalean tea with his right arm pressed against the wall as it materialized.

“I take it your day has been less than pleasant,” Garak said. It was an invitation; one that Julian always took when Garak offered it.

“One of the new Starfleet medical officers decided to undermine my authority and it nearly killed someone.” Julian turned, tea in hand. A dusting of brown rimmed his eyes, partially due to the day’s stress. The other part, the more natural part, came from age, which also sprinkled his tamed, short beard with glimmers of winter white. “When I asked why he disobeyed my orders, he stated that he didn’t trust me since I lied about being an augment and the only reason he took this commission was because he wanted to take my place. I had to contact Starfleet about the matter and the admiral I spoke with said that he had issues with authority in the past. They’re pulling him from the station and he’ll likely be doing some low level work for the rest of his career.”

“I suppose such a commission is well-deserved, then.”

Julian shrugged and sipped his tea. Clearly the doctor had a rather different thought on the matter. It was possible the man even felt guilty for contacting Starfleet and causing the young officer’s removal from the station; he did often feel guilt over matters that seemed so trivial to Garak. Of course, Julian was far more empathetic towards others than he was. Guilt was a rather unfortunate side effect for such a mentality.

“I do believe the choice you made was the right one,” Garak said.

“It was,” Julian said, “It would have been dangerous to keep him on the team. It’s just… telling Starfleet cost him so much.”

“I’m quite certain it would have cost him less if he had been far more willing to follow orders.”

“I suppose.”

Silence. Julian took another sip of his tea. Garak observed the doctor’s reserved actions before crossed the room and wrapping his arms around the man’s hips.

“You will believe whatever you wish about the matter, my dear. You are quite stubborn about your opinions and it is a quality that I’m rather fond of. However, harboring any guilt over the matter is rather foolish. Even if the remainder of his career is poor because of your actions, you acted with the best interest of others in mind. You cannot fault yourself for that.”

Julian only hummed. His eyes remained locked on the rim of the tea mug. Garak tried to catch the man’s gaze with his own, but those brown eyes never lifted. Garak sighed.

“I believe some rest is in order,” Garak said, “Even if it doesn’t take away some of your guilt, you will feel refreshed in the morning. Perhaps it will even improve your rather dour mood.”

It took a moment before Julian nodded. Garak turned, placed one hand on the small of Julian’s back and ushered him into the bedroom. Then, slowly, he took the tea from the doctor’s hands and placed it onto Julian’s end table, next to the pristine photo of the doctor’s parents – both aged, yet as bright and happy as Julian himself. Garak expected to have to gather clothes for the doctor to change into as well, but Julian took care of the rest of his nighttime routine himself. It took the man around five minutes to change, wash his face, and crawl into bed at Garak’s side. He didn’t bother pulling his PADD in with him. Garak, in turn, placed his aside.

“Computer, dim lights,” Garak said, nuzzling under the covers. The lights dimmed to a darkened level – one that granted them both the ability to see. Such light was still too bright for Garak’s nighttime liking, but for the moment, it would suffice. He wrapped his arms around the doctor’s waist and kiss the man gently on the nose.

“Would you mind if we played some music?” Julian asked.

Normally, Garak would have allowed light music. Such requests have been made in the past and Garak has always agreed. However, previous conversations about expanding their little unit by one or two children has awoken memories of Mila, of her soft voice singing Cardassian lullabies, of her comforting sound and gentle touch. Although this was hardly the time to discuss their want for children, Garak believed his own attempt to sing his beloved to sleep might show some indication that he was willing, and wanted to, build a family.

“In a moment,” Garak said. He shifted and rested his lips against Julian’s forehead. “I would like to try something first.”

There was a pause. A nervous titter tickled his stomach. He swallowed it down, took a deep breath, and began to sing. He didn’t care about the quality of his voice. He was quite certain he lacked any professional finesse. All that mattered was the pace, the words, and the tone – each had to come with a gentle air, a polite wave, a simple purpose of expressing love in a way no recorded song ever could. He closed his eyes and tried, with everything he could muster, to bring across the adoration that he truly felt. It was a long few minutes. Once his voice drifted away, he felt that nervous titter arise again.

“What was that?” Julian asked. The soft tone of his voice was driven by contentment and a need for sleep.

“A Cardassian lullaby,” Garak answered, his voice just as gentle, “Mila used to sing it to me when I was a child.”

“It’s nice.”

Garak smiled. Then, with an ease, he began to hum the tune again. He was more aware of Julian this time. The doctor’s breathing slipped into a slow, natural rhythm as his body lost the day’s tension. Soon, light snores accompanied the doctor’s breathing. The man’s mind was far from the hummed notes now.

“Computer,” Garak whispered, “Turn off the lights.”

Pitch black surrounded them. Garak closed his eyes and continued to hum. He only stopped when his own thoughts drifted and his mind tipped into the realm of unconsciousness.


	68. Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Patrick, Lauren, Jack, Sarina Douglas, Elim Garak
> 
> Sudden Garashir.
> 
> Prompt: _Julian takes "mutans" from 6x09 for a walk on the Promenade where they meet people from the team, start to make LOTS of conclusions and accidently uncover some secrets._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/155635307903/promt-idea-for-something-fun-julian-takes)]

Engagement. That was the most important thing he wanted them to get out of their experience on the station. Sure, seeing Julian, a fellow augment, was one thing, but Julian knew that his experiences wouldn’t leave a lasting imprint on Sarina, Jack, Patrick, or Lauren. What they needed was something they could carry back to the hospital that would keep their minds enraptured away from Julian’s reach.

Thus, a promenade visit was in order.

These four weren’t around others much. Crowds of people were likely foreign to them, much like anyone that weren’t doctors or members of Starfleet. Julian thought seeing others, even the thinned crowd just after lunch, would provide them with some entertainment. He’d gotten permission from Captain Sisko and escorted the four around the inner ring, starting with the infirmary and moving towards Garak’s shop. Bajorans passed by and gave polite smiles and waves. Julian always returned their greetings.

“Everyone’s so nice here,” Patrick said, the delight clear in his voice.

“They’re only nice to us because _he’s_  here,” Jack said, “They wouldn’t be nice to us if you weren’t here, would they, Doctor?” The question was ending with four rapidly expelled “hm”s which pattered out of his mouth just as quickly as the words did.

“They’d still be polite,” Julian said, “Most of the people on this station on Bajoran. They’re not part of the Federation yet, so they don’t have the same discrimination towards genetic engineering. As long as you don’t give them a reason to hate you, they’re going to be nice. You could even make friends with a few of them if you wanted.”

“ _Friends_?” Jack asked. “No, no, no, we don’t need to be friends with anyone else. We have each other.”

“Besides,” Lauren cooed from in front of Julian. She turned around and let shine one of her cunning, seductive smiles. “I doubt anyone would want to be friends with us.”

“You’d be surprised,” Julian answered.

“Doctor!” The familiar call in his unfamiliar crowd caused Julian to turn. He peered above the head of Sarina, the silent of the four. He acknowledged her with a smile before turning his focus towards the advancing figure. Garak, the Cardassian tailor, who held a Federation PADD in his hand. The one Julian let him borrow weeks ago, when the man’s Cardassian one broke.

“I’m sorry to bother you during your important walk, but I had hoped to return this to you before the evening was out,” Garak said as he moved to Julian’s side and handed the PADD over.

“Thank you,” Julian said as he gently took the PADD from Garak’s fingers. “Did you repair yours?”

“I ordered another one through Quark. I’m afraid it took far longer than I would have liked to receive it, but such matters cannot be helped during times like these.”

“No, I suppose not,” Julian said.

Garak’s gaze shifted to the four around Julian. Julian gave a polite smile.

“Garak, this is Patrick, Lauren, Jack, and Sarina. They’re here to see how someone that’s been genetically engineered can fit into society. And this is Garak. He’s a tailor here on the station.”

“A tailor?” Lauren asked. She moved closer, but not close enough to touch. Her hips slipped back and forth as she walked. “Do you think you could make something that would be more flattering than this?”

“Certainly,” Garak answered with a polite smile. “I would need your measurements, of course, but crafting a far more elegant piece would be quite simple.”

“Simple, he says,” Jack answered, “Nothing is ever really simple, is it? Even he’s not simple.”

“Jack.” Julian meant it as a warning. He was learning, though, that the tone only egged the man on. Jack circled around to face the crowd, but his right hand still stayed next to his own chin.

“But he isn’t. He’s clearly the only of his kind on the station during a time they’re likely in war, since he said it was hard to get a hold of a reading PADD, an easily obtainable thing. What about this is simple to you?” The litany of “hm”s came again. Julian’s gaze flicked from Jack to Garak, who glanced towards Julian with a bit of puzzlement. Julian could only offer him an apologetic gaze and a silent promise to explain everything to Garak later. The Cardassian seemed to understand.

“Have you been outcasted by your own people?” Patrick asked. He sounded like he could cry. Julian took in a deep breath and was prepared to give a short answer on the subject – one he hoped would curb their curiosity.

“Certainly seems that way,” Lauren cooed. “Rather fortunate for you, isn’t it, Doctor?”

Julian looked over at her, deflating just a little.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

“You like him.”

Julian felt his heart drop into his stomach.

“Oh, come now, Doctor, surely you didn’t think you could hide such an obvious thing,” Lauren said.

“Lauren.” A darkness covered Julian’s tone. He couldn’t reel it back and that knotted his already heart-filled stomach. There was no way he could lie his way out of this revelation now.

“Have you told him?” Patrick asked. A childlike wonder filled the man’s words. “Have you kissed?”

“Patrick!”

Julian’s harsh tone caused the older man’s face to dip. He looked like he could start crying at any moment. Julian sighed.

“I’m sorry, Patrick. I didn’t mean to lash out at you. It’s just–”

“He didn’t tell him,” Jack said, “Of course he wouldn’t. Why would anyone that isn’t a mutant want to be with a mutant?” Four “hm”s. Julian didn’t restrain his glare as he turned his head to focus solely on Jack because he didn’t dare my eye contact with Garak. Not now. Luckily, Jack was staring back at him. “Well, isn’t that what you think? That’s part of the reason you never reveled your DNA re-sequencing, right? You didn’t think anyone would love you?”

“Jack, that’s enough,” Julian said.

“Yes, that’s quite enough.” Garak’s voice brought the whole conversation into an uncomfortable silence. Julian finally looked over. Garak was staring solely at him, those blue eyes boring into him with an intensity he’d never seen before. There was a pause, a consideration on Garak’s end, and then movement. Julian watched the Cardassian close the space between them. Hands pressed against either side of Julian’s face as cool lips planted against his own warm ones. Julian’s eyes widened. His heart rose from the knotted heap and nearly rocketed out of his chest. Around him, he could hear the happy applause of Patrick. A few seconds later, Garak finally pulled back. A soft smile ventured on the Cardassian’s face, no doubt basking in Julian’s pure surprise and hidden, but clearly not secret enough, delight. Garak’s hands fell away and he stepped back.

“I believe we can discuss this later, Doctor,” Garak said. Then his focus turned to Lauren, “Thank you for your insight. Allow me to come by later and take your measurements. I would be delighted to create a stunning piece for you.”

“Of course,” Lauren answered.

Garak turned to the other three.

“If any of you would like pieces as well, please tell me when I come by.”

With that, Garak turned and left. Julian watched him leave in still stunned silence.

“Ooo!” Patrick said, “He kissed you!”

“He’s a keeper,” Lauren said.

“Only if you don’t want another mutant,” Jack said, “He would never match the enhanced intellect that you have.”

Julian finally let himself smile.

“You’d be surprised.”


	69. Revealing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Developing Garashir. Mentions of Tain and Garak's childhood.
> 
> Prompt: _Bashir has an embarrassing and revealing fashion mishap and Garak may or may not have had something to do with it..._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/155701856233/bashir-has-an-embarrassing-and-revealing-fashion)]

“Bashir to Garak.”

Ah, Doctor Bashir’s voice was such a delight to hear, especially since Garak had been expecting this interruption for hours. Even the irritated tone the young man’s voice took on didn’t taint Garak’s joy as he rose from his couch, crossed his quarters, and pressed his finger against the button on his communication’s panel.

“How can I help you, Doctor?” Garak asked in feigned innocence.

“I need you to meet me at holosuite two with a change of clothes.”

“Why, whatever for?”

“You know _exactly_  what it’s for.”

He did.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Garak!”

Garak managed to hide a chuckle behind his tight lipped smile.

“Give me a few moments to retrieve a rather delightful outfit from the shop that will be a little more to your liking.”

He shut off communications before Doctor Bashir had the chance to respond. It was a choice he knew would irritate the good doctor further, which only escalated Garak’s joy. Oh, what a wonderful source of entertainment the man was. Garak considered using his own clothes as a replacement to quicken his arrival at the holosuite, but crossing such an intimate line was out of the question. Although there were no other Cardassians on the station that would inquire about his motives, there was a risk of someone discovering the matter and making connections. No. The spare clothes he’d crafted for the occasion really would have to do.

Garak left his quarters and headed directly to his shop. He slipped inside, went into the backroom, and pulled a pair of black slacks and a purple button up from his completed special requests collection. He took a moment to examine the materials for any imperfections before venturing to Quark’s.

He entered Quark’s on the upper level so he wouldn’t be spotted by the Ferengi proprietor. Garak didn’t even glance around to see if he was discovered. He merely walked to the door of holosuite two and knocked. It was a polite sound that he knew would be loud enough to catch against Julian’s enhanced ears. A second later, the door opened. Garak stepped through it before he, and the doctor’s state, could be discovered. The holosuite doors slid shut after his entry and, no doubt, disappeared into the decor. It would have stood out against the setting which, strangely, Garak didn’t mind.

The walls were stone and layered together in a way that seemed purposeful, almost archaic. The circular space offered one window just across from where Garak stood, which was open and framed the greens and blues of a wilderness foreign to Garak’s eyes. An Earth view, no doubt. Inside the room in front of that view was a large bed, which was far larger than necessary and stripped of any cloth. The person responsible, the dear Doctor Bashir, was standing next to the bed with one hand holding up the bedding around his waist while the other rested rather sternly against his other hip. His bare chest rose and fell in a steady, clearly anger driven place. Still, Garak smiled.

“I see you managed to misplace your shirt,” Garak said.

“I didn’t misplace it. It de-materialized. But I suppose you knew about that already, didn’t you?”

“Really, Doctor, do you honestly think I would create anything that would strip you of your clothes?”

“Yes.”

Garak smiled and closed the space between them. He handed over the custom-made wears, which Julian took surprisingly gently from his grasp.

“There may be hope for you yet,” Garak said. He turned and headed for the door. The exchange was meant to be over. It was as he planned it – a fun joke that irritated the doctor and ended with a rather pleasant gifting of clothing that would, no doubt, irritate the good man but would allow Garak to provide him with clothes that would actually be suiting. A pleasant win-win scenario.

“Garak, wait.”

But with the dear doctor, nothing was ever quite that simple. Garak stopped, but didn’t bother turning around.

“If you wanted to see me without my clothes on, all you had to do was ask.”

Garak sighed.

“You really are reading for too much into this.”

“Am I?”

He wasn’t. 

“Yes.”

“You’re lying.”

Oh, there truly was hope for the dear doctor. Unfortunately, Garak could not provide him with much more hope. It would be far, far too dangerous for the rather optimistic young man, no matter how charming and trained he was. No, their relationship couldn’t progress past this point, no matter how badly Garak yearned for such a thing.

“Computer, exit,” Garak said. The door appeared. He walked through it and allowed it to shut behind him. Doctor Bashir couldn’t follow in his state. It gave Garak a chance to make himself scarce. Instead of returning to his quarters, he ventured around the station, away from the public areas. He needed a walk, but not around others. The less people that knew where he was, the less likely the dear doctor would find him.

After a few hours, Garak finally returned to his quarters. He believed that he would find them as he left them. Instead, when he opened the door, Doctor Bashir was inside, clad in the purple button-up and black slacks that Garak had just given him. The young man’s brown eyes flicked towards him. Garak hesitated under the gaze but tried not to show it in his steps. He ventured into the room and let the door close behind him.

“This is rather uncivilized of you, Doctor,” Garak said. Any joy he had about seeing Doctor Bashir earlier had evaporated.

“We need to talk.”

“I’m afraid I have to disagree.”

“Garak–”

“Truly, Doctor, there is nothing to discuss.”

“So you just want to pretend that you don’t have feelings for me? You want to pretend that I don’t mean anything to you?”

“Simply because you spend a rather sizable amount of your life pretending does not mean others around you do the same.”

“So you don’t like me?” Bashir sounded more irritated than downtrodden. Garak could tell the conversation would continue regardless of the answer he gave. Truly this little joke of his had been a rather emotional mistake. He sighed and attempted to exhale his building discomfort.

“My feelings are not an important factor in this conversation, Doctor.”

“Your feelings are the most important part of this conversation.”

“I believe we should agree to disagree on this matter and end the discussion here. It would be far better for the both of us.”

“No.”

Garak blinked. In all these years, Doctor Bashir had never outright said ‘no’ to him before. Sure, they had points of contention and Doctor Bashir did shoot him once to save the life of his friends, but there was nothing life threatening about this matter. This was emotional territory. And it was territory Garak did not want to enter.

“Whatever discussion you wish to have over the matter should not be had. It would be uncouth.”

“You mean you’d be uncomfortable.”

“Doctor–”

“No, Garak, I’m not going to just stand here and watch you be miserable. It’s been clear for months that you’re interested in me but you haven’t acted on it. I’m giving you a chance right now. I won’t reject you. Just, please, for once, tell me how you really feel.”

Garak stared at that stern face, at those narrowed brown eyes, and felt himself giving into the doctor’s resolve. Not entirely by choice. He could leave out the sap – the unwritten poetry, the unsung songs, the untouched grazes that he longed for – and leave in only the matters of importance. Those matters Doctor Bashir would likely see as intellectually as he did, even with the rather optimistic view that he had. That hope for intelligence over emotion was the only thing that allowed Garak to spill parts of the truth, as the doctor requested.

“It would be far too dangerous for us to be together.”

“Garak, we’re all fighting the Cardassians.”

“I believe you know enough about my previous work to be aware that the Cardassians are not the only enemies that I have, Doctor. Even if they were, outside of this station Cardassians have far too many enemies in the Alpha Quadrant due to their connections with the Dominion. Your connection with me could already prove to be dangerous for you.”

There was silence. Doctor Bashir watched him for a moment. For a moment, Garak was hopeful the doctor would drop the conversation and return to his own quarters. Instead, an eased expression crossed the man’s face.

“You’re afraid of losing me.”

Garak’s heart sank. Oh no. This really had gone on for far too long. The joke was a mistake. Everything he’d done was a mistake. He never should have approached the rather handsome man in the replimat all those years ago. He should have left the dear doctor alone. How could he have been so foolish? How could he have allowed this to happen? He’d gotten rusty. He’d grown comfortable in this docile environment. Now he had to remedy the situation.

“Get out.”

The doctor remained, poised and calm.

“No.”

“Doctor–”

“I’m not leaving.“

He could call Constable Odo. He could have the young man escorted from the room. He could. Yet, he didn’t move towards the communication panel. Instead, he maintained eye contact with Doctor Bashir and allowed his mind to mull over other options. None were coming. The only thing rising up was the panic he associated with far too small spaces with shifting walls and crippling darkness. He was caught. He was losing himself. He was dying. Oh, how his inner walls were crumbling. No doubt his foundation of beliefs would fall with it if he allowed another word to be uttered.

Garak turned then and headed for the door. Before he could reach it, a warm hand circled around his upper arm. He stopped.

“Let go.”

“Garak, talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

“Clearly there is or you wouldn’t be running away. You can trust me, Garak.” He knew that. “I’m not going to leave you.” He knew that too. “Please. Talk to me.”

Garak stared at the door. He thought to jerk his arm free and bolt. If he charged through, he could leave the doctor behind him for good. Bashir wouldn’t chase him down. He would let their friendship disconnect and they would turn into strangers who would only spot each other through the ebbs and flows of crowds. The thought of that alone caused Garak’s heart to shatter. He couldn’t lose Bashir. Not after all this time. It wasn’t just a romantic pining that shattered his poor, aging heart, but a desire for something beyond the veils and secrets of his life. He treasures those secrets, but all he wanted, all he truly wanted, was something to brighten his life as Bashir had been all these years.

“You’re the only light I have,” Garak said. His voice was nearly a whisper. “If I were to lose you under circumstances that I deemed were my fault, I’m afraid I could never forgive myself.”

Silence. Utter silence. Garak had never voiced such emotions aloud before. For a moment, he thought he might feel the wrath of Tain upon him and the closet swallow him for the night, leaving him entangled in a darkness so familiar yet so fear-inducing that he wouldn’t find himself out again. Yet, Doctor Bashir remained with his naturally warm grasp and kept him from crumbling completely away.

Then, Doctor Bashir pulled himself close and wrapped his arms around Garak’s chest. A chin rested on Garak’s shoulder.

“From this moment on,” Bashir said, “I’m not emotionally leaving you. I don’t care what you say or how you try to manipulate me out of your life. And if something were to happen to me because of my attachment to you, I want you to know that it’s entirely my fault. I could leave right now and never talk to you again, but I’m not going to do that. I’m here to stay. Whether that means we continue our friendship where we left off or our relationship grows into something more intimate is entirely up to you. Just know that I’ll be here for you no matter what you decide.”

Garak couldn’t remember the last time he cried. But this was the closest he came in years. After a moment of considering the doctor’s words, he reached his left hand up and let it fall onto Julian’s which remained still against Garak’s chest.

“You really are far too kind, my dear Julian.”


	70. Emergency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Jules Bashir, Emil Garak, Benjamin Sisko, Keiko O'Brien, Miles O'Brien, Odo, Kira Nerys
> 
> Warnings for phaser fire, physical injury, and war battles.
> 
> Prompt: _re First Meeting: OOOOOOH MY GOD, SO GOOD! If the Prophets move for a follow up, I'd be here for it!_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/155723578268/re-first-meeting-ooooooh-my-god-so-good-if-the)]
> 
> Important Links:  
> This is a continuation of [First Meeting](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8263093/chapters/20284048).  
> Cardassian designs based off of [the wonderful art](http://subspacecommunication.tumblr.com/tagged/my-art) made by [subspacecommunication](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nattherat/pseuds/subspacecommunication), who has also contributed to the [species swap au](http://subspacecommunication.tumblr.com/tagged/species-swap-au) that was started in First Meeting.

It started with screaming. Phaser fire came one second after. Chaos erupted. Civilians and workers alike scrambled for cover. The few Starfleet officers that were in Quark’s pulled out their phasers and positioned themselves at key entry points. Several fired shots. Others remained poises and vigilant.

Jules climbed up the rails and latched himself to the high ceiling, shielding himself in darkness as he scrambled for ideas. From his location, he didn’t have a good view of the promenade. He didn’t know who was responsible for the attack, which meant he also had no idea what weapons they had. Leaving Quark’s could prove fatal. However, staying could also mean trouble for far more people. He needed to get information. The more he knew, the more information he could relay to Commander Sisko, and the faster this attack could be quelled. Less lives lost. It was a start.

After a moment, Jules scampered across the ceiling, opened an engineering vent, and crawled through it. He closed the vent shut with his tail, crossed the tunnels, and peered through the next vent shaft. He couldn’t see anything. He continued on to the next and the next. The second offered nothing. The third revealed far more and nearly froze Jules’s heart.

Bajorans. They were the ones responsible for the attack.

Not ones Jules had seen around the station. These were members of the Alliance for Global Unity, no doubt – the ones who wanted Bajor for Bajorans. Jules knew that they would be volatile to the presence of the Federation, but he never thought they would attack. Assaulting Cardassians was one matter, but humans? Especially ones who were trying to help? Jules understood it. Cardassians were rather xenophobic themselves. But he never thought the Bajorans could be capable of such aggression. He had to be careful.

Jules crossed over the promenade through the tunnels and headed towards Garak’s clothing shop. Despite Garak’s claims of innocence, Jules was astutely aware that the human stowed weapons near the reams of fabric in the back room. He needed one. Sure, his venom could knock out a Bajoran or two, but such an attack would only drive their political agenda forward. Having any Cardassian help during a Bajoran resistance movement would help them prove their twisted “the Federation is trouble” mentality. No venom. No Cardassian imprint. All that could be seen on the surface is a human resistance to a Bajoran attack.

After a minute of twists and turns in the tunnels, Jules finally arrived at the entrance near Garak’s shop. Jules peered through the vent, opened it, and eased through the vent. He poised himself on the ceiling, watched the figures on the promenade, slowly closed the vent entrance, and then eased towards Garak’s shop. The doors opened for him. Jules hadn’t expected that. He entered regardless.

A phaser shot went off and crashed into the closing door. Jules scampered to the far end of the ceiling and stopped when he saw the figure responsible, Garak, pressed against his work counter, phaser in one hand. The other was placed rather awkwardly on the man’s stomach.

“Ah, Mister Bashir,” he said. There was a rather heavily quality to his words that didn’t sit right with Jules. “My apologizes. I thought you might be more of the Bajorans.”

Jules dropped from the ceiling and moved towards him. He hid himself behind the station, in case others were to enter, and even curled his tail against his haunches to ensure he wouldn’t be spotted.

“What happened?” Jules asked.

“It appears the Alliance for Global Unity took their mantra far more seriously than we had anticipated.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Garak looked at him. A dusting of dark circled under the man’s blue eyes and revealed more than the human likely wanted Jules to know. Perhaps that’s what made him cave and lower his hand from his stomach. Red came with it. Bright, liquid red that could only be human blood.

Jules immediately sprinted for the back room, grabbed the stowed medkit, and rushed back. He pressed his right side against the work station and curled his tail gently onto Garak’s lap so he remained out of sight. Then he opened the kit, grabbed a Federation tricorder, and scanned Garak’s body. The abdominal injury was, luckily, the only one. However, the large wound nearly punctured two organs. It was coagulating, which was good, but not at a fast enough rate. Garak might not die, but he would certainly fall unconscious if the bleeding resumed for much longer. Jules placed the tricorder aside, pulled out a clotting agent, pressed the hypo to Garak’s neck, and set it off. Despite the sudden shot, the man didn’t flinch away.

“I trust that wasn’t a pain killer,” Garak said.

“No, but I can give you one if–”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Jules looked up at Garak’s face. There was a stoic resolve lingering in the expression staring back at him. Jules nodded and returned to his work.

Although he hadn’t done medicinal work in almost three years, Jules went through the motions without hesitation or consideration. The clotting agent would do it’s job, but the wound still needed to be tended to. He pulled an alcoholic cleaning agent and a pad from the kit, poured the cleaner onto the fabric, and pressed it against the wound. A soft, near Cardassian hiss escaped the man’s mouth, but it soon settled into an uncomfortable silence. Jules placed the pad and alcohol aside before pulling bandages and some gauze. He placed the bandages across the wound and circled the gauze around the man’s torso, under the fabric of his shirt, in order to hold it in place.

“It should be fine until we can get you to the infirmary,” Jules said.

“I believe that may be sooner rather than later,” Garak answered.

Jules’s head perked up. In his focus, he hadn’t noticed that the phaser shots had died away. It was possible that the attack was over, but it was difficult to say. Jules peered around the counter towards the door. It was closed.

“Do you have another phaser I can use?” Jules asked.

“Yes. In the storage room, hidden under the Earthen silk.”

Jules scampered back to the storage room, peered through the fabrics, and quickly found the silk. He lifted it up, uncovered a concealed box, and opened. Two more phasers were tucked inside. He pulled one out, placed it on a stun setting, and returned to Garak’s side.

“I’m going to go through the engineering shafts and try to figure out what’s happening,” Jules said. He offered a soft smile. “I’ll return to you when I can.”

“It’s no rush, Mister Bashir. You have far more important matters to attend to.”

Jules couldn’t disagree. He moved to the ceiling, went through the door, and found his way into the engineering shaft again in the discomforting silence. Each movement he made seemed far too loud against the quiet. Yet, no one outside seemed to notice as he went from vent to vent to examine the state of affairs around them. Most areas were empty. Civilians weren’t spilling onto the promenade. The danger wasn’t quelled then. Jules ventured to ops. It took a few moments to get there. He hoped, by then, an announcement would be made to express the attack was over and people could leave their hiding places. That, however, wasn’t the case. It was clear why.

Two members of the Bajoran Global Alliance were in ops. One of them had taken custody of Keiko O’Brien, who trembled in his tight grasp. They were making demands – the Federation would leave the station and never return, they would stop all contact with Bajor, they wouldn’t interfere with any other matters involving the Bajorans – but all of their demands were met with a rather irritated Major Kira who, out of view, was yelling about how ridiculous they were being. From his vantage point, Jules knew he could shoot the Bajoran holding Mrs. O’Brien and land on the other one to stop their assault. If there were other members of the Alliance in the room, though, he could be putting himself at a huge risk.

It was one he had to take.

Very carefully, Jules released the vent cover and placed it aside. Then, on the mental count to three, Jules shot the Bajoran. He crumpled. Jules leaped from the shaft a second later and landed on the other. Phaser shots echoed but didn’t reach him, or anyone else for that matter. Jules pulled the phaser from the Bajoran’s hands. Whispers echoed around him but Jules didn’t take his eyes off the Bajoran. He couldn’t risk being caught off guard.

“I’ll take it from here.”

A hand reached down, spread, and trapped the Bajoran against the floor. Jules looked up. It was Constable Odo, who gave Jules a firm glance. Jules nodded and stepped away, letting the Constable restrain the man. Other security offers gathered the unconscious one and both men were carried from the room, no doubt heading to a holding cell.

“Good work, Mister Bashir.” The positive affirmation came from Commander Sisko, who ventured closer to him with a polite smile on his face. “Though I am a little concerned about how easy it was for you to get in here.”

“I just crawled through the engineering shafts,” Jules answered.

Jules could tell the commander was taking a mental note of that. No doubt he would have the engineers rig the shafts so they would be harder to navigate without clearance. But there were other matters to attend to before then.

Jules’s eyes scanned the room. A medical personnel was in the space, tending to Keiko O’Brien who was gathered up in her husband’s arms. Chief O’Brien tried to give her his full attention, but his eyes flicked to Jules the moment he peered over. He did have a past with Cardassians, much like the Bajorans did, so Jules didn’t think much of it. His attention turned back to the commander.

“Garak’s been hurt,” Jules said, “I patched him up, but he still needs to go to the infirmary.”

“Once we’ve cleared the station, we’ll get some doctors to him,” Sisko said. “In the meantime, why don’t you go through the shaft and check the promenade. We could use all of the information we could get.”

Jules had never been asked to help before. Being useful, outside of his day-to-day work, brought a lightness to his heart that he hadn’t felt in years.

“Of course, Commander.”

Jules scrambled up the side of ops and towards the vent.

“Mister Bashir.” Commander Sisko approached. Jules stopped outside the vent and peered down. The commander’s hand reached up. A Starfleet combadge was tucked in his fingers. “Take this with you. You’ll be able to communicate with us this way.”

Jules smiled, reached down with his tail, and let Commander Sisko place the equipment on the plume at the end. He moved his tail to his claws, picked up the badge, and placed the equipment on the left side of his shirt.

“I’ll be in touch,” Jules said. Then he ventured into the shaft, closed it, and started his rounds through the engineering shafts. As he moved, he couldn’t help but smile.


	71. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir - mentions Enabran Tain and Odo
> 
> Warnings for inflicted pain, interrogation, and mutual not likey of situation.
> 
> Prompt: _What if, in the die is cast, Garak had to interrogate Bashir instead of Odo?_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/155830983053/prompt-for-whenever-you-have-the-time-what-if-in)]
> 
> Author's Note: Instead of switching Odo and Bashir, I added Bashir into the mix and changed the information Tain wanted to know to make the interrogation of Bashir more logical.

Garak didn’t want to do this.

Due to his years of training, he was able to walk with muted confidence towards Doctor Bashir’s impromptu holding cell – a small bedroom void of anything but two chair and a table – but that hardly meant he was ready or even willing to participate in what could easily be the worst interrogation he would ever go through. But he wanted to be in Tain’s good graces again. He wanted to be back on Cardassia. He wanted to be away from that awful station and back serving his people with the loyalty they deserved. Tain was providing him with the only opportunity he would have. If that meant interrogating one of the only people that showed him any sort of kindness on that station, then Garak was going to do it. He had to. He didn’t have a choice.

He approached the doors and nodded to the two Romulan guards outside. One of them input the door code, 255817 by the looks of it, and granted Garak access. He stepped in and let the door close soundlessly behind him.

His eyes immediately fell onto Julian Bashir. The thin, tall man was seated, but clearly not by choice. In Garak’s absence, at least two of the Romulans, likely the two outside the soundproof room, had restrained him to the chair with his hand held behind his back. Cuffs, likely. A simple code wouldn’t get those off. It wouldn’t take much, though; a simple sliver of flexible metal ought to ease those cuffs off the good doctor’s wrists. Not that Garak would provide Doctor Bashir with that freedom, even with the concerned stare and pressed frown that greeted Garak when he walked through the door. Though the angry bruise forming on the doctor’s left cheek brought forth an inherent need to protect the man. Garak wasn’t sure where this feeling had come from, but that hardly mattered.

“I apologize for their rather rough handling of you, Doctor,” Garak said, treading passed the man and towards the table. He could see the doctor’s head twisting in an attempt to see what, exactly, Garak was doing. He ignored Bashir’s gaze and let his own fall to the tools left on the table. They were all various torture devices – electroshock tools, phasers, knives, scissors. None of them looked appealing. “I trust they have not injured you too much.”

“Does it matter if they have?” Bashir asked. His words sounded harsh against Garak’s ears. Garak picked up an electroshock device and examined it. Non-lethal, but highly painful. It would prove his point and, hopefully illicit some answers from Doctor Bashir.

“I suppose not.”

Garak picked up the remote and a pair of scissors, grabbed the second chair, dragged it in front of the doctor, and then placed the device and the remote along side it. Then he turned with the scissors and unzipped the man’s uniform jacket, revealing the lavender shirt below. Bashir squirmed. It was likely an unintentional response to Garak’s sudden advance, much like their first meeting. Garak wondered if the doctor had the same wide-eyed, innocent stare as he did then, but he tried to let the thought pass without consideration. Another unimportant detail, he assured himself.

It wasn’t though.

As Garak brought the scissors to the collar of Doctor Bashir’s shirt and started to cut the fabric along the man’s left shoulder, he nearly looked at the young man’s face. Bashir wasn’t one to hide his emotions. Whatever fear, uncertainty, and remaining innocence he had would be chiseled into his soft features with an artist’s touch. Garak knew if he glanced upon that young man’s face, he would live to regret it. So, he focused on the fabric, how the threads split with each snip, how the front seemed to fall away and reveal the naturally tanned flesh below. The bones were just as the defined as the muscles, Garak realized, as his fingers nearly lifted to brush against the man’s exposed collarbone. Such a delightful curve. But no. There would never be time for such a motion or even a touch. Going through with this interrogation put to rest any fantasies that may have lingered.

“Enabran Tain is quite convinced you have information that will be useful to us,” Garak finally said. He knew the silence had been an indication of his internal battle, likely one that Doctor Bashir took notice of. They had known each other for far too long for Garak to be able to hide such things. Yet, he tried to carry on as if the silence and the rotating memories hadn’t happened. “He’s rather adamant to know any weaknesses the changelings may have.”

“Why would I know something like that?” Bashir asked.

“Why, because you’re a doctor, of course.” Garak turned and picked up the square, slim electroshock device he picked up earlier. He examined it as he spoke. “And you are likely the only person on the station who knows Constable Odo’s physiology, aside from the constable and I doubt he would be so willing to share such valuable information.”

“And you think I will?” Doctor Bashir almost sounded offended. Such a tone would have merited a smile before. Not now.

“You have done many things to surprise me before,” Garak said as he pressed the device on Bashir’s skin, above his heart. “It would be wise for you to surprise me again in this instance. It will save you quite a bit of displeasure.”

Garak turned and picked up the remote. He didn’t turn back around as his thumb brushed over the dial.

“Now,” Garak said, “Tell me what can harm a changeling.”

“I don’t know.”

Garak flicked on the voltage to level one. Bashir cried out. It was then that Garak glanced at the doctor’s face. Those hazel eyes he’d grown to admire were squeezed shut. His mouth was open to compensate, but the agonizing noise that ripped free was anything but pleasant. Garak switched off the device. Bashir gasped, tensed, and swallowed. Garak looked away and walked behind the doctor before he could make eye contact.

Even with the doctor out of his view, Garak’s heart still ached. He didn’t want to continue. Killing the doctor would be far easier than prolonging his suffering for an answer Garak was certain he wasn’t likely to get. Yet, he had to continue, if not for himself, then for Bashir. If he returned to Tain now, Romulans would take Garak’s place and push the doctor through far worse punishment. It was for the best. It had to be for the best. After all, this interrogation would mean the end of their correspondence one way or the other. There was no turning back.

“Garak–”

Doctor Bashir sounded gentle, yet determined. He’d used that tone before, just before Garak’s wire had been shut off. Whatever the doctor wanted to say, Garak couldn’t let him.

“An answer, Doctor.”

Silence. Garak flicked on the device. Same level. Similar scream. He flicked it off and back on again. This continued for only three minutes, but each one ticked by at such an agonizing rate. Garak opted to increase the intensity from level one, to two, to three, in the hopes the escalation would produce some answer. It never did. His thumb rolled over the electroshock level controls with some hesitation in the momentary, painless quiet.

“I know this is just as painful for you as it is for me,” Bashir said. Garak’s thumb paused against the controls. “But I know why you’re doing it and I forgive you. I don’t know how long you have to keep this up to appease Tain, but I assure you that I don’t know anything that you don’t already know. I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry. Garak’s putting Doctor Bashir through physical and emotional torment and _he’s_  sorry. Garak wanted to pick up the vacant chair and toss it across the room and into the table so he could watch them both clatter and crumble with no grace or pleasure. How their motions would mirror his own inner turmoil. Likely, it would grant him little to know relief as well. So he opted for His hand tightened against the remote instead, but the shock never came on.

“You have no reason to apologize, my dear doctor,” Garak said. It sounded like a whisper against his own ears, but he knew Bashir heard him. Garak placed the controls on the table.

“But without an answer, Tain might not let you return to Cardassia.”

Oh, what a kind-hearted yet foolish man. This mentality was beyond the Federation’s ways. This was simply how the doctor was. The care and sincerity the young man carried around was something Garak hardly deserved. If Tain had witnessed this exchange, no doubt he would have applauded Garak’s ability to wrench such emotions out of a Federation officer. And in Tain’s shadow, he would have gladly accepted such praise. But here, in their own privacy, Garak felt nothing but guilt. Because, in truth, Doctor Bashir wasn’t the foolish one. He was.

Doctor Bashir had shown him nothing but kindness. He’d shown him the possibility of happiness outside the wire. He’d shown him a glimmer of life outside of Cardassia that was worth striving for. And here he was tempted to throw it all away for Tain. He admired his father, much as any Cardassian child should, but his adoration for Bashir was edging above that. He longed for Bashir; he wanted to touch him, to feel him, to be with him, to feel his flesh as if it was his own and lay claim to every inch of the man’s body. It wasn’t lust that drove such thoughts, but the unattainable “love” that fluttered around like a myth in his mind. Love wasn’t a possibility for him. It never had been. Yet, love was there, present, waiting. He could have it. He could take it. He could fight against the Romulans, steal away Odo and Bashir, and return to the station. He could realign his loyalties and build a new family. But that went against everything Tain taught him, everything he knew. It would against every belief he had. There could be no new loyalties.

“I’m quite certain Tain will wish me to interrogate Constable Odo next,” Garak said. “You’re sure there’s nothing you can tell me?”

Garak looked at Bashir then. He could only see the back of the man’s head, but he was certain the man was mulling this new information. Garak didn’t bother picking up the remote. Either the doctor was going to tell him something, or he wasn’t. So, he waited.

“I don’t know how much you know about this,” Bashir said, “But almost a year ago, Major Kira and I went through the wormhole and ended up in an alternate timeline. I… killed the Odo in that timeline. Phaser fire. At a high enough setting, it’ll cause a changeling to explode.”

The alternate timeline information was new to Garak. It was likely that the Federation did not want others to know that such events unfolded and Garak didn’t make it a habit to peek into classified Federation documents unless he had to. Most of what he wished to know he could eavesdrop to discover. It was that way he had initially heard about the phaser fire weakness. It was good to finally have a firsthand source for that information.

“Please tell me you’re not going to test that on Odo.”

That was the first time Doctor Bashir sounded desperate. The tone of his voice could’ve broke the remainder of Garak’s heart. He crossed the room and in front of the doctor. It was the first time they made eye contact throughout the entire ordeal. Somehow, despite it all, Bashir’s eyes still held the same delightful glow they always did. Oh, how resilient the man was. Garak knelt down and kept his gaze locked.

“My dear doctor, I can assure you that I will do everything in my power to keep you and Constable Odo safe and well from this point forward.”

Garak flicked his eyes to the device so he could remove it from Bashir’s chest. When it lifted away, there was nothing left on the doctor’s skin to show it had been there at all. With it gone, though, Bashir seemed to relax. Garak made eye contact with the man once more before walking back to the table.

“I have a tailoring kit in the runabout,” he said as he placed the device on the table, “You should be able to fix your shirt once you’re aboard and heading back to the station.”

“You honestly think Tain will let us leave?” Bashir asked.

“I believe I can convince him that it’s in his best interest,” Garak said. “It would be rather foolish of him to make an enemy out of the Federation, after all.”

A quiet settled between them. Garak so much wanted to fill it with a confession of his own. He wanted to speak aloud what his heart dared not say. He wanted so desperately to voice his feelings and lean on the one man who would forgive his most atrocious acts. Part of him knew that he could kill Bashir and the man would likely forgive him in his last breath. Garak wanted to laugh at such an act, but he couldn’t. He understood the heart behind it. That’s what made it hurt more.

“I suppose this is the last time we’ll talk then,” Bashir said.

“It’s quite likely.” Garak’s words seemed too distant.

“I don’t regret making friends with you.”

“And I, you.”

But Garak did have regrets. He felt them heavy on his heart. So much so that as he passed Bashir and exited the room, he didn’t look back at the doctor’s face. He couldn’t bear to see the gentle smile that would, no doubt, cross it when his eyes laid upon those tanned features. He didn’t want that to be the last image of the man who took the last of his heart.


	72. Sweater Superstitions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, mentions Enabran Tain
> 
> Post-series. Talks about the destruction and rebuilding of Cardassia.
> 
> Prompt: _the sweater curse with Julian and Garak_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/155908127198/saphirachrysalis-sent-you-a-message-about-the)]

Garak always had new clothing ideas for his dear Julian in mind. The doctor was constantly requesting clothes so he could indirectly help the Cardassian people rebuild. He was delightfully thoughtful in his approach as well. Julian would request something, pay in advance, receive the item, wait exactly two weeks so Garak could complete other orders and clothes for his own people, and then he order something else. It had become a routine between them – one that Garak accepted without argument or malice.

At the start of this arrangement, Julian asked for costumes as first. Then the dear man started running out of ideas. Each request became more of a struggle. Eventually, Julian finally said, “Why don’t you just make something that you think will look good on me.” It was a request that Garak was quite happy to take on. He crafted shirts, slacks, jackets, and various accessories which accented his slender frame, brought out his natural glow, and enhanced the wonderful tan that his skin had. Each time he saw the man flaunting around in one of those pieces, Garak nearly rushed over and planted kisses on every centimeter of revealed skin. Yet, he would restrain himself so others could see his darling showcase his hard work. More commissions came in after that. Each one Garak was delighted to fill.

Over the months, Garak started to look for ways to expand the items he offered. That was when he first considered making Julian a sweater. He’d found suitable yarn in a delightful, fading blue that would no doubt make an excellent piece. When he placed the order, he asked his Earth contact for some tips on creating the best sweater.

“Is this for your boyfriend?” she asked. She looked concerned.

“Yes. If you’re worried that he might not wear such an item, I assure you that he’ll be delighted.”

She hummed. It was a stunted, concerning noise that didn’t showcase any enthusiasm. Garak frowned.

“Is there a cultural issue with gifting a sweater that I’m unfamiliar with?” Garak asked.

“No, it’s not cultural. It’s… a superstition.”

“Ah.” Garak wasn’t interested then. But his contact continued to speak and he didn’t stop her.

“It’s an old belief that knitting a sweater for a significant other will cause your relationship to fall apart.”

“And why would crafting a sweater cause such a deplorable thing?”

“A number of reasons. Sometimes it’s just poor timing. The relationship was bound to end eventually and they just started knitting the sweater at the wrong time. Sometimes it’s because the sweater takes so long that the person creating it has second thoughts about their relationship. Sometimes the person receiving the gift it’s as enthusiastic about it as the person who made it is, which starts a number of fights. It varies.”

“How odd,” was all Garak said about the matter. And he didn’t think much else of it.

Then the yarn came in.

The material was soft, delicate, but when knit together it would create something bold, darling, domestic, much like his dear doctor. Garak smiled over it at first. Then he started the process and felt doubt trickle in. What if his contact was right? What if crafting this sweater would start the end of their delightful relationship? Why would it though? Surely the doctor’s response to it wouldn’t cause such an extreme reaction.

Ah, but his own. Garak always had doubts about maintaining a serious relationship with anyone. With Cardassia rebuilding, though, his people had the chance to create a society that was better for their people. Although Garak was far from his home world, his decisions and shipments still made an impact on the too small community. And he let his heart guide him, in part, back to Julian Bashir. Was it a good choice? Was it wise to connect with a human when his own people were in need of more of their own offspring? There would be no doubt that others would mate with humans or even Bajorans, but should he?

These were the questions that ran through Garak’s mind as he spent weeks knitting this blue piece together. The quality was excellent, the colors wonderful, and the final product was one of the most exceptional works he’d ever produced. But with such uncertainties rummaging around in his thoughts, he wasn’t sure it counted as a win.

Garak placed the sweater aside. It’d taken far too long to finish it. And as he pondered how long, exactly, it had taken, the shop doors opened and Julian Bashir entered. The normal, jovial expression was muted with concern.

“Ah, my dear,” Garak said, trying his best to sound normal, “What brings you in?”

Julian was quiet for a moment, his eyes wandering around the seemingly unchanged shop.

“Are you mad at me?” Julian asked. Those brown eyes returned to Garak.

“No. Why ever would you think so?”

“I haven’t seen you much this past month,” Julian said, still sounding uncertain, “And when I have seen you, you’ve been distracted.”

Garak stared at the slender, heart-filled doctor and felt all his uncertainty again. What could he say? That he’d been having second thoughts? That he wasn’t sure this relationship of theirs was good for his own people? Surely that wouldn’t go over well. Plus, in truth, he did love his dearest more than he had ever adored anything. Even if it wasn’t good for his people, this relationship was good for Garak. He knew it. Felt it. And even if it cost his people offspring, wasn’t his own happiness worth hanging on to? Tain wouldn’t think so.

Ah. Tain. Yes, he was still hanging on to that old man’s teachings, wasn’t he? But that man’s Cardassia was gone. And though Tain and Garak himself served the old Cardassian state well, wasn’t it better to move forward? Wasn’t it better to include those who wished to help and offer support? Though some more stubborn Cardassians might not think so, Garak certainly did. Especially when such assistance came with such a lovely heart and a delightful smile.

“I apologize, my dear,” Garak said, “I’m afraid my thoughts have been elsewhere.”

“Did something happen on Cardassia Prime?”

“No, nothing quite so serious.” Garak paused. He didn’t have to tell Julian. He could lie. But the darling doctor would always wonder and Garak didn’t want doubt to surface under Julian’s skin. “Tell me, my dear, have you ever heard of the sweater curse?”

Julian shook his head.

“It’s an old Earth superstition among knitters. It’s believed that knitting a sweater for a significant other will cause the end of a relationship, for various reasons. I’ve finished a sweater for you, but during the creation of it I began to have second thoughts about our relationship and whether or not it was good for my people.”

Garak pause. He could see a flicker of distress against Julian’s face. No doubt such a thought had crossed the doctor’s mind before. Garak gave him a small smile.

“I believe my efforts here are far more helpful to my people than returning to Cardassia and procreating with another of my kind. Besides, I do believe I deserve happiness after all these years. Wouldn’t you say so?”

Julian blinked. Then a broad smile blossomed on his face. Without a word, the doctor cut across the room and wrapped his arms around the back of Garak’s neck. Julian’s lips were warm when the made contact with Garak’s. Garak closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation as his arms circled around the younger man’s waist. He felt warm. Not quite was warm as the Cardassian sun he remembered from his youth, but like a tamed warmth that came with indoor work and aged understanding. Garak had years to go. He had orders to fill and supplies to send. He had a job. An important, fulfilling job. One far more important than his old Obsidian Order work. He would help rebuild Cardassia and he would do it with the kindest man at his side, for better or for worse.


	73. Arrangements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Enabran Tain, Richard Bashir, Amsha Bashir, mentioned Mila and some OCs
> 
> Arranged marriage. Mentions of future sex.
> 
> Prompt: _Julian in an arranged marriage with Garakt. Establish relationship, Julian has to live with Garricks father Tain_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/155927669328/julian-in-an-arranged-marriage-with-garakt)]

In the three-hundred years since this arrangement was started, Julian Bashir was the first male to be given to the Cardassians. He gave himself over.

Since Julian’s youth, there had been concerns about the Cardassian gift. Once every twenty-five years, a daughter from the royal family was to be given to the Cardassians as payment for the start of The Great War. The Cardassians won and only let the humans live if the royal family was willing to give up one daughter of each generation. Richard and Amsha intended to hold up that tradition, but each time they had a child, they ended up with a son, not a daughter.

At least, until Julian was twelve.

The day Amsha gave birth to Karisma, the village rejoiced. Julian remembered holding the little girl and silently promising her protection for the next fifteen years. His younger brothers, Karam and David, gathered around him to watch Karisma sleep in his arms. It was a bitter-sweet moment, and the last of his sweetest.

Three days later, Karisma died.

Julian watched his parents, and the rest of the village, morn over the terrible loss. In part, he felt responsible. She died in the night suddenly. It wasn’t preventable, the healer said. But what if it had been? If he had been up, would he have been able to save her? Even if he had known a little of what the healer did, maybe he could have helped her. Maybe she would still be alive.

Those thoughts pushed him to study with the healer. Richard protested at first, but Amsha allowed it. It was his role to help his village, after all, and discovering what ailment took his dear sister’s life could help other children in the village live through their infancy.

Over the next fifteen years, Julian learned, grew, and eventually found himself caring for the youngest in town. Some followed him with outstretched hands and barraged him with questions as he went from house to house, checking on the newborn souls. Some died suddenly in their sleep, just as Karisma had, but the cases were rare and he could come up with no solutions or means of this happening.

One such cases resulted in him returning to the palace early. His heart arched so profoundly that he couldn’t bear lingering in the village long. He came up the palace steps, entered, and immediately came face-to-face with guards that seemed far too rigid and far too serious.

“Is there a problem?” he asked one.

“The Cardassians arrived moments ago,” the eldest of them answered, “They went to speak with your parents.”

Julian rushed to the sitting room, motioned for the outside guards to remain silent, and hid himself behind the wall in order to eavesdrop on the conversation. He hadn’t gotten a good chance to see the figures in the room, but he knew his father and mother were inside, along with at least one Cardassian, who spoke in a gentle, yet fluid tone.

“We’re capable of having a daughter,” his father said. There was a panicked tone to his words. “Please, just give us some time.”

“The arrangement was one sacrifice every twenty-five years,” the Cardassian answered, “If you cannot hold up your end of our agreement, then there will be repercussions.”

“Will someone from the village do?” Richard asked in such a hushed tone that Julian hardly recognized it.

“It must be someone from the royal family,” the Cardassian answered.

“But the only female we have is the queen.”

“Then she is a choice.”

Julian’s heart stopped. Oh god. His mother would gladly take the offer if it meant preventing war, but she was getting up in age. Whatever tasks the chosen sacrifice had to preform may be unsuitable for her. It could even kill her. No matter what consequences his actions held, Julian couldn’t allow that to happen. He pushed himself into the open and got his first glimpse into the room as he spoke.

“What about the eldest son?”

Silence. Five pairs of eyes stared at him. Two belonged to his parents, which froze onto him with a mix of fear and distress. The other three sets belonged to Cardassians, who stood in front of the two thrones with taunt stances. The one in the front, likely the one who had spoke previously, had a hard, blue gaze that seemed to ease upon Julian’s entrance. Even from his distance, Julian could tell the gray tone the Cardassians had came from scales, not skin. They reminded Julian of the lizards that sometimes scuttle across the alleys of the village. Questions filled his mind. This wasn’t the time to ask them, though. Hopefully there would be time for such questions later.

“I take it you’re the eldest son,” the Cardassian in the front said. Julian was right. He was the one who had been speaking all this time.

“That’s right.”

There was a pause. Then the Cardassian approached and stopped in front of Julian. He didn’t let his gaze flit away as blue eyes scoured his face or body.

“How old are you?” the Cardassian asked.

“Twenty-seven.”

He hummed. Julian watched that gaze flick back to him. Then, the Cardassian turned back to where he stood before.

“Your eldest is a far more suitable choice,” he said, “Even if my son rejects him, I will still be able to make use for him.”

Julian looked over at his parents, who exchanged glances with each other. There were doubt, but he had no reason to believe his parents would reject the offer. Karam and David were left, after all. One could surely take the throne instead. Likely, that’s what had gone through his father’s mind when he looked towards the Cardassians again and said, “We accept.”

Julian was given twelve hours to gather his belongings and say “goodbye”. All that time, even as he made his rounds, a Cardassian guard followed him. Several children inquired about the figure but Julian assured them that he wouldn’t hurt them so long as Julian himself was with them. They seemed to accept this answer, even if their parents silently opposed it. His last goodbyes were to Karam and David, both of whom seemed reluctant about his departure. He gave some last words before heading with the Cardassians to their awaiting transport – carriages drawn by two horses a piece. The lead Cardassian, the one that spoke with Julian’s parents, ushered Julian into one before following him in. Moments later, the carriages departed and headed towards Cardassia, Julian’s new home.

“It’ll take two days to arrive,” the Cardassian said. “It’ll give us time to see if you’re suitable for Cardassia. I can’t allow someone who will betray my people into the city, after all. What kind of leader would that make me?”

He had a point. A rather fearful point. Julian swallowed.

“What happens if I’m not suitable?”

“We’ll kill you and return to your village for another. Since they’re likely to refuse the request for a second sacrifice, it would insight a war that would last as long as The Great War and would have a far more catastrophic outcome for your people. I doubt many would survive.”

In all his years, Julian had never tasted fear. But there it was, bitter and sharp and nauseating. He tried to swallow it down but it didn’t marry well with his stomach. A knot formed. One that would likely only grow larger in the coming days. The Cardassian smiled politely.

“I’m Enabran Tain. And you are?”

“Julian Bashir.” The words came out monotone. Tain didn’t seem to care.

“And I’m to assume that you became a warrior, much like your father.”

“No.”

Tain’s surprised expression resulted in a lengthy, and nervously rushed, explanation of his past, of Karisma, of his time learning how to heal others, and of his want to help others. He wasn’t sure how long the explanation took, but once he finished, Tain stared in a silent resolve. Julian opened his mouth to continue, but the elder Cardassian held up his hand. Silence again. Julian swallowed.

“Have you helped heal adults before?” Tain asked.

“Yes.”

“Would you be willing to continue your work as a healer in Cardassia?”

“If you allow it.”

Tain leaned in.

“And why should I not allow such a thing?”

“I could pretend to be a healer but actually slowly poison your people if I wanted,” Julian said.

“You could,” Tain answered, “But given your rather bold statement on the matter, I doubt you would. In addiction, such actions would merit death for you and many of your people. It wouldn’t be worth the risk to you, would it?”

“No.”

Tain smiled and leaned back again.

“You’re an honest man, Julian,” he said. “That honesty has saved you, for now.”

For now. Rather fitting. But Julian allowed himself to breathe a little. He just had to keep telling the truth, then. Doable, considering that he hadn’t intended to lie to Tain to begin with. He had no intention of killing anyone, or fleeing Cardassia for that matter. He made a deal and that was that.

The rest of the trip to Cardassia was pleasant enough. Tain asked questions which Julian answered without hesitation, no matter how personal they became. Though his increasing discomfort over sexual conversations seemed to please Tain immensely. Beyond words, though, Tain asked for nothing else. Julian was grateful for that at least.

They arrived at Cardassia during a hot afternoon. Julian was ushered out of the carriage by guards and brought into the Cardassian palace. It was broader and more angular than the one he grew up in. It also had larger windows, less curtains, and a clearly higher temperature. He doubted his usual clothes would be comfortable in this environment. But he didn’t want to question the matter. The less issues he made, the better off he was going to be.

Cardassian maids stared as Julian was walked through the unfamiliar surroundings and taken to a bathing room in the west wing. He was provided new clothes – a pair of silk pants and a light brown tunic – and ordered to clean himself. Two guards stood outside the closed room as Julian stripped, soaked in heated water, and rubbed all traces of filth from his body. Once he was done and clothes, his old clothes were taken and he and his packed belongings were taken in a room in the east wing. Tain lead him there in silence.

The room was larger than his own had been, but it was clear it wasn’t for Julian. Someone already lived there. The morning sun would greet the occupant, who’s bed was positioned exactly where the golden rays would fall during the sunrise. Most of the room was bare save for that bed, three tall bookshelves full of Cardassian texts, one shelf with folded clothes, and a collection of weapons Julian had only seen depicted in his own texts he read growing up. Cardassian bows, knives, swords, and other assorted pieces lined the wall. Julian’s gaze fell mostly to the books, which he walked over to examine.

“My son will arrive home this evening,” Tain said. Julian glanced at the door where the elder Cardassian stood. “You will remain here until his return. Then he’ll examine you to determine whether or not he wishes you to be his. If he chooses not to, I will still have a place for you, but it will be far less accommodating. I suggest you do your best to please him.”

And then Tain was gone. Julian knew two guards stood outside that giant room and just waited for him to leave the space. Instead, his gaze flicked back to the books. He retrieved one and opened it. The text was unfamiliar. It would be something to get used to then. He closed it and returned it to it’s proper place.

Julian occupied the passing hours by trying to determine who the occupant of this room was. The myriad of texts determined that he was a reader, that much was clear. And the weapons indicated that he was some kind of warrior. A hunter, maybe. Or even a soldier. Julian wasn’t too familiar with Cardassian society, so it was hard to say. But wasn’t hard to say was that the man clearly liked his clothes. They were fine pieces, all hand-made, with a touch of care. None of the fabrics were frayed or torn and they all looked elegant. He could say the same for some of his own pieces, but even they weren’t made with the same care. Whomever devoted their time to each work cared more for fabrics than their own person, likely. Julian wanted to meet them and see if a tailor with such a passion for fabrics worked in the same way he did with herbs, tonics, and potions.

His eyes returned to the bookshelf again. He tried to find something written in something aside from Cardassian, but there was nothing. A loyal reader, at least. Likely loyal to Cardassians in general, if the state of his room had anything to say about it. Nothing of humanity touched the barren space. Julian couldn’t fault him for that. Nothing of Cardassia touched the human city where he once lived.

Suddenly, the room’s door slammed shut. Julian jumped and stared, wide eyes frantic for answers. Another Cardassian caught his eye.

This Cardassian was younger than Tain, but seemed older than Julian expected. Thirties or forties, perhaps. Julian had heard to Cardassians lived longer than people, so this man being unwed in his late thirties seemed as likely as Julian not being wed at twenty-seven. His eyes were sharp, like Tain’s, but there was an air to this one that seemed different somehow. Julian couldn’t place why. Especially since the clothes this younger Cardassian wore were almost militaristic.

“It’s Julian Bashir, isn’t it.” The Cardassian’s voice was higher-pitched than Tain’s, but it still carried a some-what serious tone. Julian nodded. The Cardassian approached and let his eyes wander over Julian’s body. There was something far less imposing about that stare. Julian didn’t shy away from it. He even allowed the Cardassian to circle around him without trying to watch his full gaze. “My father tells me that you suggested you come instead of your mother.”

“That’s right.”

The Cardassian’s circle was complete. The blue eyes glanced upon Julian’s face again.

“He also tells me that you worked as a healer.”

Julian nodded. The Cardassian closed the space between them and placed his hands on Julian’s shoulders. The touch was cold. Julian did his best not to shiver under it, especially when the fingers brushed to his upper arms and then his elbows.

“You must care a great deal for your people,” the Cardassian said.

“I do.”

“Enough to stay here?”

“Yes.”

The Cardassian’s grip tightened for a second before they released him. The Cardassian turned then.

“I’m Elim Garak. Outside of this room, you will need to refer to me as Garak, so it would be wise for you to speak only that name, even in our private company.” The Cardassian began to strip himself of his gear as he walked over to the shelf of clothes. As Garak’s shirt fell away, so did Julian’s gaze. “I am a leader in the Cardassian military. Once my father dies, I will be taking his place on the throne.” There was a pause. “Really, Bashir, you can openly stare if you wish.”

Julian’s gaze rose almost immediately. Garak was facing him, broad chest and flat stomach showing, though there was a small curve beginning where his abdominal muscles would be. Scales were there too, but less. The Cardassian’s pants were still on, luckily, but Julian had the growing suspicion that he would find out more Cardassian anatomy as the night wore on. It caused his gaze to flick away again. Garak sighed.

“If you’re concerned that I may force myself upon you this evening, I would like to inform you that your fears are unfounded. You are a delight to look at, my dear Bashir, but I assure you my intentions for now are not of a sexual nature. I wish to know my partners more before going through such an experience. Though, I will say that I do intend on us sharing a bed this evening. I’m afraid I cannot steer away from your natural warmth when our nights become rather chilly. I do hope that will not make you too uncomfortable.”

Julian looked at Garak again. Although the outward expression hadn’t changed, Julian had no reason to distrust the Cardassian’s words. Late night cuddling. No sexual contact. That didn’t sound terrible.

“I’ll get used to it.”

Garak nodded and returned to his clothes. Julian watched him choose a red and green piece that would stand out against the gray scales Garak touted.

“I was looking at those clothes earlier,” Julian said, “They’re really well made.”

“Thank you.” There was something prideful in the Cardassian’s tone.

“I was wondering if I could meet the person who made them.”

“You have. I made them.” Garak tugged on the red and green top, which fit the man perfectly. “Tailoring is a hobby of mine.”

“Have you been tailoring for a long time?”

“Over a decade,” Garak said. He began to strip his pants. Julian respectfully looked away this time.

“It shows. Your work is immaculate.”

“Thank you. Tell me, Bashir, do you have any hobbies outside of your work.”

“I read, mostly.”

“How appropriate, so do I. Though I would be surprised if you could read any pieces in my collection.”

“I can’t. I already tried.”

“I shall take the time to teach you, then, so you can still read while you’re here.”

“I’d like that.”

Garak walked into his view. Julian watched the fully clothed man move towards the door and open it. There were two guards outside.

“Tell my father that Bashir and I will be staying in this evening. Once Mila has finished cooking, have our meals brought to my room.”

There was a call of affirmation. Then, Garak shut the door.

Julian didn’t leave the room over the next ten days without Garak. And trips outside of the room were only taking to the washroom where Julian was allowed to relieve himself and wash whenever he wished. Their constant time together was part of the enjoinment process, Garak said. It was necessary for them to spent two weeks straight together at every possible moment to determine whether or not they could live together. Although Julian had some reservations with the process, he did find Garak’s company to be delightful. They spoke about Cardassia, and Julian’s old village, about healing work, about tailoring work, about books. Some of their conversations turned into wondrous debates – a verbal battle ground of cultures and thoughts. Julian adored those as much as he learned to like Garak’s fleeting touches and stronger arms wrapped around his waist. It didn’t take long for them to exchange kisses. Though, it hardly went farther than that.

Then, one morning, Tain walked in as they were preparing to walk to the washroom.

“You only have four days left,” Tain said.

“I’m quite aware of the time limit,” Garak answered, not bothering to look over. Julian stared between the two, confused about context but afraid to ask in Tain’s presence. “I assure you the matter will be handled.”

Tain looked from Garak to Julian. They made eye contact. Then Tain departed and closed the door behind him. Garak’s sigh was obvious.

“Am I missing something?” Julian asked.

“In order for us to become enjoined, we must have sex.”

“Tain knows we haven’t had sex?” Julian was almost shouting.

“My dear, Tain knows everything. He’s aware of many things happening in this city as they’re happening. Such a man must know those things.”

Julian looked down at the ground.

“I apologize for not being forward with you about the matter, but I wanted to ensure enjoinment with you was what I wanted. No doubt Tain was watching for any signs of betrayal as well. It’s likely that he sees that you will not betray us, which is why he made his presence known. He will not be so forward in the future. However, he will always be aware of your actions. I trust you will keep that in mind.”

“Of course,” Julian said as he looked up, “But what about you? Is this enjoinment something you want?”

“It is. I’m afraid it isn’t traditional to ask you about the matter, but if you wish to object to the enjoinment–”

“The enjoinment is fine. It’s just… fast. That’s all.”

“I agree. Once we’ve gone through the first sexual encounter and finished the enjoinment ceremony, we can slow our pace. I doubt Tain will have much to say about that matter.”

“Is that what he did with his wife?”

“I’m not sure, though I can speak with Mila about the matter.”

“The housekeeper?”

“She’s my mother. I believe the two of you will get along nicely.”

“Will I take her position when she dies?”

“It’s very doubtful. There will be some matters around the house you attend to, no doubt, but it will be far more likely that you will continue your healing practice here. I imagine that Tain will have you work with other soldiers, in public spaces, of course. It would be uncouth for you to be alone with anyone else but me once our enjoinment is over.”

Garak turned from his clothing and handed Julian something to replace his nightwear. It was some of Garak’s personal pieces – a little baggy against Julian’s frame but still a little short in the legs, given Garak’s slightly shorter frame.

“There are some customs you will have to get used to, but I’ll spend the next four days teaching you so you aren’t ill-prepared,” Garak said. Julian nodded. Garak smiled. “Good. Now I believe bathing is in order.”

Garak leaned in and kissed Julian on the cheek before heading to the room door. Julian followed with a smile of his own. Tain was intimidating, sure, but Garak was far warmer. He hoped their enjoinment would only make that warmth between them grow.


	74. A Crossing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir
> 
> Warnings for blood, lucid dreaming, body horror (possibly), and physical harm.
> 
> Prompt: _Written in Blood_ \- for a Tumblr prompt meme [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/156092927333/16-julian-bashir)]
> 
> Author's Note: This prompt fill is influenced by a novella draft I've written. I've been on the fence on whether or not to edit/publish the piece. If you'd like to see more of this, please let me know and I'll take the time to edit the novella.

Desert was all Julian saw. Curls and waves of sandy hills stretched beyond his vision and blended into the darkened, cloudy sky. Wind picked up some of the sand and kicked it around. He felt shards sting like pins pricking against his face and brought his left hand up to shield his eyes.

He knew it was a dream. It had to be. Yet, it felt so real, as if he’d really been transported into the swirling sand. It could be a lucid dream. He hadn’t had one since his time at Starfleet Academy, but given the stress of the Dominion War, it was possible that his own anxiety triggered such a mental experience. He had to break free from it. Somehow, he would. But for the moment, he walked.

Julian wasn’t sure where he was going, but the path seemed familiar. It was as if he’d walked them before. Yet, he was sure he’d never been here. He’d never seen these dips and climbs of sand dunes and never stood among them to admire their beauty, though they were marred by the blackened clouds building in the distance. He tried to pry any sort of meaning from the view, even through squinted, shielded eyes. Nothing came to him. Though he did spot something settled against the sand just yards ahead of him. Julian ran for it.

His bare feet slipped against the sand, but he managed to stay upright long enough to reach the object without stopping. Once there, he fell to his knees and uncovered the heap that was partially covered by the rolling sand.

It was a human figure. Well, what had been a human figure. It’s skin was gone. The skeleton underneath was exposed through the burned and tattered cloths that remained latched around it. A young woman, by the looks of the skeletal structure, but Julian couldn’t be sure without looking at the pelvis and that seemed far too invasive. It was clear that whomever this was had been through enough. Julian sighed and peered at the empty eye sockets.

“What happened to you?” he whispered.

Julian’s eyes flicked up to the clouds. Somewhere in their broad expansion was a starting point. He’d find the answers there.

Before he could climb to his feet, something brushed against his arm. He looked down. Fingers. Skeletal fingers. They scraped along the blue and white stripes of his pajamas. Julian’s eyes flicked to the face again. It hadn’t changed. The skull was just as empty as before. Yet, there was something there. Something less than dead. Something–

The fingers slashed against his arm. Julian yelped and jerked back, falling on his back. Blood seeped through the torn fabric and dripped against the sand. Julian didn’t bother to look at the wound as he scampered back, away from the skeletal figure that became to creak and moan. It stood, a tattered tower against the darkened landscape. It’s once bare skull began to form muscle and veins and two black eyes that bore into him with a soul-shaking intensity. Julian clutched against the sand and stilled as a jagged, veined finger extended towards him..

“ _You_ –”

Julian woke up. The dim lights of his own quarters greeted him. His heart raced, his lungs jerked. He looked with wide, brown eyes for any anomalies in his room.

“Computer, lights.”

His voice shook, but the computer still responded. Light pooled into his bedroom. Everything was as he left it. Nothing had moved, nothing had changed. It was a dream. Just a dream.

Julian rose from the bed and went into the bathroom. He tried to take deep, paced breaths in order to ease his hammering heart. His eyes focused on the sink basin. His hands clutched against the rim. _It was a dream_ , he thought in calming reassurance. _It was just a dream._  He reached his hands forward to turn on the sink and saw something drip and stain the white porcelain.

Blood.

It came from his right arm. The skin was slashed and red pooled against his torn sleeve. Julian yanked the fabric up to show the deep gash that had formed while he slept. The woman. She did that. She’d cut his skin open. Somehow while he slept, she’d injured him. It had to be–

_I cut myself in my sleep somehow, that’s all_ , Julian thought. He turned on the water with his left hand and placed his wounded arm underneath the clear flow. It wasn’t a deep wound, but there was no way his hand caused it. Part of him doubted that he’d somehow been responsible. But a dream couldn’t cause that, no matter how lucid it was. It had to be him. It had to be.

Then Julian looked in the mirror. Connecting his own face to his thoughts would have helped. Only, it wasn’t his reflection that caught his attention.

There were words on the mirror. They were written in red streaks that reeked of copper. Blood. His blood.

_Die Augment! Die!_


	75. The Little Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, mentions of Enabran Tain
> 
> Warnings for claustrophobia and mentions of child abuse.
> 
> Prompt: _One last little light._ \-- for a Tumblr prompt meme. [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/156141838163/2-garak)]

Garak heard crying.

It was such a soft, muted noise that he almost didn’t pay any mind to it. Tears and sobs were common in times of war, after all, especially when friends and loved ones were being lost in the fray. It was likely an officer who’d just lost someone. Perhaps even a Starfleet child who lost a parent.

Yet, there was something familiar about the sound that made Garak pause.

Beings didn’t cry the same. It was something Garak learned over the years. Even those of the same species didn’t always make the same sounds when they sobbed, even if they attempted to do so silently. There was no reason this crying should be any different. But the gentle, childish sobs were so familiar to him that Garak felt his mind tumble towards long buried memories of small closets and little light. He ushered the thoughts away quickly and began walking again. His pace was quicker than normal, but not enough to alert anyone that might pass by him. Luckily, the halls were empty. Unluckily, the crying grew louder.

Garak stopped again. He wasn’t far from his quarters – only two yards away, to be exact – but the sobbing was right next to him. There was a small crawl space there, designed for Cardassians to escape should the need arise. Garak had never ventured into the space himself. He was certain no one else on the station had either. There would certainly be no point of such a venture. Yet, someone was there.

He considered leaving them. Perhaps he should have. Someone else’s tears were hardly Garak’s problem. But the longer he lingered, the more curious he became. Who would have crawled into such a small space? And why? Surely there were better places for one to vent their emotions. Perhaps they truly believed no one could hear them in that far too tiny space. Whatever the case, Garak eventually turned to the idea that he needed to teach them how loud they were truly being. It wasn’t concern that caused him to move. Of course not. He was hardly anything like the dear Doctor Bashir. Concern was never a motivation. Simply, curiosity and teaching.

Garak knelt in front of the crawl space and unhooked the cover. He placed it aside and peered in. Although the small darkness rattled his heart, he assured himself he wouldn’t have to go in. He was merely observing. And what he observed was exactly what he heard.

Curled up not far from the entrance was a young boy, likely aged three or four. He was sitting with his arms around his legs and his face hiding in his knees. From where he was, Garak couldn’t tell exactly what race the boy was, though it was clear from the lack of ridges he wasn’t Cardassian. He could easily be Bajoran or human. His drab clothes certainly didn’t help differentiate the two either.

For a moment, Garak was torn. Any responsible person would ease the boy out and attempt to find his family. However, Garak didn’t know how the boy and closed the crawlspace by himself. The Cardassian metal was heavy. No human or Bajoran child should have been able to lift it on their own. Certainly not one so small. Someone had placed him there, then. But who? And why? Garak’s mind went to punishment. He had been treated much the same way as a child, by the hands of his own father. He doubted any other parents, even Cardassian ones, would resort to such measures, but it was possible. If that was the case, Garak should leave him to endure his punishment.

But he couldn’t.

The boy was clearly scared. And though Garak living through his own fear of small spaces and isolation made him stronger, this was not the place or time for such treatment.

“Excuse me,” he said. His voice was clear enough, yet the boy didn’t seem to respond. Caught in his own dismay, likely. Garak looked around the small space and frowned. He didn’t want to go in. He wouldn’t have to. He could call someone over the computer system. Constable Odo, perhaps. The changeling would likely have more luck than Garak anyway. But he wouldn’t call the constable yet. He would see if he could at least get the child to respond to him first.

“My dear,” Garak said, his tone louder. A strangled sob left the boy and his head turned. Eyes met his. Though Garak couldn’t see the color of the young boy’s eyes in the dark, it was clear by the tear stained nose-ridges that the child was Bajoran. That could make this worse, depending on the boy’s raising. Yet, Garak provided him with a polite smile.

“I doubt your parents would want you in here,” Garak said. “Come. I’ll take you back to your quarters.”

The boy didn’t move. Garak sighed. Clearly his Cardassian appearance was too concerning.

“Allow me to call Constable Odo for you, then. I’m quite certain–”

His words stopped as the boy moved towards him, small sniffles and hiccups still leaving his tiny body. Garak waited for the young boy to get closer to him. When he did, Garak moved aside in the hopes that the boy would skirt out on his own. Instead, a small hand reached out and grabbed his.

Garak’s mind was jarred. Black surrounded him as he seemed to tumble end over end without control or any means of stopping. No sounds, no visions, no purpose. Not until he spinning stopped and his mind whipped back into understanding.

He was in a small space. There was a man at the opening. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he could see that the man was placing something at the only opening. He reached, fingers out, in a desperate plea to get the man to stop, to let him out. He didn’t. The hole was closed. Only a sliver of light remained, just beneath the seal. He beat his hands against the cover as he screamed. It was small, and dark, and cramped. He couldn’t be in here. It would collapse. The darkness would take him. He’d die.

But it was clear the man wasn’t coming back. The black would take him. It had to. That was it’s only purpose.

He pressed himself against the cover, against that tiny sliver of light, and clung onto it in a desperate attempt to keep it there, keep it his. Through tear stained eyes and choked back sobs, he stared into the dark around him. Then, a litany of “let me out”s and “I’m sorry”s and “please”s escaped his lips. They were loud against that imposing dark. So loud. He hoped it would call the light in.

Eventually, it did. The cover came off. He rolled out into the hall and collapsed on the floor. A man hovered over him then. It was a different man. A friendly man. Although it was new, there was something about it that was familiar. A distant familiarity. He could feel it, but it was too far away to grasp.

“Hey little guy,” the man said, his accent just as familiar as his face, “How did you get stuck in there?”

He blinked and felt the rush of relief overtake him. He began to cry. Large, tanned hands scooped him up as a soft “shh” escaped the man’s lips.

“It’s alright, you’re safe now,” he whispered, “Let’s get you to the infirmary and call Constable Odo. We’ll see if he can find your parents, okay?”

He nodded through his sobs and clutched harder onto the man’s jacket. They moved, but he didn’t bother checking where. He was safe in that warmth, in that man’s embrace. As long as he didn’t let go, everything would be alright. He knew that. Somehow, with this man, he knew that he’d be safe.

After a moment, he finally quelled his tears and looked up at the face again. It looked back at him. There was a gentle smile on that tanned face and the bright brown eyes seemed nice. He liked those eyes. More than. He liked the man.

“I’m Julian Bashir,” the man said, “What’s your name?”

Julian Bashir. He had to tell him something. Something important. Really important. But he couldn’t grasp what that was. He tried to chase it down, but it escaped his hold. The idea of sharing something important with the friendly man left all together when he realized that he couldn’t remember his name either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this story, [TrekkingThroughLife](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekkingThroughLife/pseuds/TrekkingThroughLife) wrote a piece inspired by it called [Of Cardassians and Amnesia](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10317917/chapters/22815065). I absolutely recommend it. <3


	76. The Question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak
> 
> Post-Series. Established Garashir.
> 
> Prompt: _I've read a lot about Garak proposing (and I do love the idea) but what if Julian proposed?_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/157260188973/prompt-ive-read-a-lot-about-garak-proposing-and)]

Garak returned to Deep Space Nine.

At the time, Julian couldn’t believe he was seeing the Cardassian again. He thought they’d send message back and forth, as they had over the previous three months, but their eyes would never meet again, as Garak would spend the rest of his life on Cardassia Prime, attempting to rebuild much of what his people had lost. Garak looked disheveled and a little worse for wear, but his stay on Cardassia Prime hardly seemed to damper on any delight he had during their years together, both as friends and partners. It was almost like having their old companionship back. Almost.

Garak had played off his return to the station as a tactical move. “It came to our understanding that we would need Federation assistance in order to rebuild,” Garak stated, “I offered to return to the station in order to handle the more diplomatic matters.”

At the time, Julian chose not to question him on the matter. He was happy for the company and happier to have someone to intimate with him back in his life, even if it didn’t last.

But it did last. Two years passed without effort. As Julian thought back on them, he realized that Garak never hinted at returning to Cardassia Prime. All conversations around his home planet consisted of making arrangements for others and acting as a go-between for the Federation and his surviving people. The day after he realized a visit hadn’t even been suggested, Julian offered to go with Garak to Cardassia Prime to provide medical assistance. Garak declined.

“There are plenty of medical officers on Cardassia Prime already. There is no reason for you to leave your post, my dear.”

Julian didn’t push the issue. However, he did start asking himself questions that slowly flicked at the back of his mind with increasing irritation until he simply couldn’t leave them unanswered.

His search for answers started with simple computer scans. Garak didn’t leave any traces of anything unusual though. That hadn’t changed. Julian turned to Quark then. He’d asked if Garak had mentioned anything about Cardassia that wasn’t as positive as the Cardassian claimed them to be. Quark denied it.

“The only times I see him is when he’s tangling himself up with you,” Quark said. Then he raised one of those Ferengi brows and flashed a smile. “Guess your charm finally snagged you someone _special_.”

Julian ignored the implications of that and changes his perspective. He returned to his quarters and contacted one of the medical officers on Cardassia Prime about the matter. He hid his want for knowledge under the guise of professional curiosity and a myriad of questions about the occupants of Cardassia Prime. It took him two days to receive a response. Julian read over the same dialogues that Garak was giving him, more or less. The living occupants of Cardassia Prime were healthy. Efforts were being made to rebuild major cities first, with increasing success, and Garak’s ability to work with the Federation on behalf of his people has helped tremendously. The medical officer, though, added something Garak hadn’t in the last two years.

“Mister Garak not only suggested that he be the one to return to Deep Space Nine, but he also left no room for anyone to disagree with him. According to several of the Cardassians here, he was adamant on leaving the planet entirely. He gave no explanation why and since the Cardassians were so desperate for help, they didn’t argue with him about it.”

Julian read over the information twice just to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding before setting it aside.

Why didn’t Garak want to stay on Cardassia Prime? Why didn’t Garak want to return? The rebuilding efforts were going so well. Surely he could continue his diplomatic efforts while living back on his home world. Was it really that depressing for him in the beginning? Or was it something else?

The questions mulled over in his mind, even as he met the Cardassian for dinner. Julian tried to carry on their usual conversations about literature, about the new Cardassian author that emerged from the rubble with more modern tales, but his mind couldn’t quite focus on the topic at hand. Silence lingered between thoughts at times. Although Julian tried to cloak his pause with intense internal debate, he knew his own tells and he knew it was only a matter of time before Garak called him out on it. Sure enough, forty-five minutes into their private dinner discussion in Garak’s quarters, Garak turned the conversation.

“My dear, is something the matter?”

Julian shook his head but didn’t make eye contact. Garak sighed.

“Really, after all this time, you haven’t quite learned to tell a convincing lie.”

Julian looked up then. Garak peered at him. He couldn’t quite read Garak’s expression, but he was sure there was some concern there. So, Julian offered a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m alright. I just have a lot on my mind.”

“We could discuss the matter if you wish.”

“No, it’s alright.”

“Are you certain?” Garak asked.

Julian’s smile faded. He looked down at his plate again. He’d barely touched the replicated dish. No doubt some part of Garak was delighted with such a slow pace, but it was highly unusual, even in this privacy of theirs. He couldn’t say nothing. The conversation would drain into quiet and Garak would no doubt go snooping around for answers and find that communication from Cardassia Prime within hours. Julian straightened his back.

“Why did you leave Cardassia Prime?” Julian asked. He glanced up. Garak didn’t seem phased by the question.

“We were in need of assistance from the Federation. I offered to return to the station in order to supply my people with that assistance.”

“Why you?” Julian asked. “Why not anyone else?”

“I had worked with the Federation during the course of the Dominion War. We believed that it would be best for them to communicate regularly with someone they had experience with in the past.”

“You mean you believed.”

Garak smiled.

“My dear, do you honestly think that I would have such authority to make a choice like that on my own?”

“No,” Julian answered, “But I do believe that if you really wanted to leave for any reason, you’d do so without letting anyone argue with you about it.”

“And what makes you believe that I wanted to leave Cardassia Prime?”

“I contacted one of the medical officers on Cardassia Prime. They relayed to me that several of the Cardassians stated that you left no room for others to argue about your return to the station.”

“That hardly means I wanted to leave, my dear.”

“I thought about that, but if you wanted to stay there, or even return, you would have gone back to Cardassia Prime by now. But you’re still here.”

“My communications with the Federation are not over yet.”

“But you could do the rest on your home world.”

“Is that an indication that you wish for me to leave?”

Julian’s mouth opened but no words came out. Of course he didn’t want Garak to leave. He loved the Cardassian. Adored him, in fact. He would have traveled to the edge of the Gamma Quadrant and risk his life time and again if it meant they could stay together. He would even move to Cardassia Prime if it came to that. How could he express that in words? As he scampered to, Garak’s smile grew and crinkles touched the edges of his eyes. Without a word, Garak stood, closed the space between them, pressed his hand against Julian’s jaw, edged his mouth shut, and kissed him lightly on the lips. That ended the conversation. It didn’t end the rotating thoughts, that cycled through his mind throughout the evening.

In the morning, as he returned to his quarters to start his day, the events of the night played idly in his mind. When he got back to that gaze, those crinkled eyes, the blue sparkle that went with them, Julian realized what had kept Garak at the station.

It was Julian himself.

Garak didn’t talk to anyone else on the station regularly. And, in truth, many of the things Garak did for his people could have been done on Cardassia Prime. Julian could have even helped with several of them and acted as a Federation resource for him in more dire times. Yet, Garak opted to return to the station and spend his hours with him instead of dealing directly with his own people.

Julian walked into his quarters and made an order to Earth. Three weeks later, his small package arrived. He unwrapped it, made sure all the contents were inside, and prepared for their regular date in three days.

It took everything Julian had not to show any nervousness around the Cardassian. He did his best to focus on the current conversation, on the events unfolding on Cardassia Prime, on their literary comparisons, on day-to-day life. Meanwhile, the little gift sat hidden with his uniforms in his closet, waiting to be uncovered. Away from Garak, Julian went through the possible speeches he could give, what he would ask, how he would ask it. No matter how many times he practiced, it never seemed right. He thought to ask Ezri for help, but he didn’t want rumors to catch Garak’s far too attentive ears. He had to figure it out on his own.

When their date night came and Garak arrived at his quarters, Julian tried to make it appear as if it was their normal night in. They sat down at the table and began to eat and talk, as they normally would. Julian started going through the rehearsed speeches, but the more they talked, the more awkward those scripted words seemed. He tried to salvage together something, but they finished their meal in a normal manner and Julian took their dishes to the replicator.

“I believe we should turn in for the evening,” Garak said.

“It’s a bit early, don’t you think?” Julian asked.

“Perhaps, but your rather nervous energy this evening needs to be released somehow, does it not?”

Julian swallowed and send the dishes away. He hesitated.

“I’m not anxious because I want sex.”

“Oh?”

Julian peered back. Garak was still sitting, staring at him with an unknowing gaze. It would be innocence, if Garak was capable of such a thing. It was close enough to it, at least. Julian looked at the ground and fussed.

“A few weeks ago I’d asked you why you left Cardassia Prime and why you hadn’t gone back yet,” Julian started, "I knew going into this years ago, before you went back to Cardassia Prime, that you’d go back and leave me if you ever got the chance. But you’ve been here for two years and you haven’t even brought up returning at all. I even offered to go but you said you didn’t want me to leave my post. But I would leave my post to go to Cardassia. I would leave Deep Space Nine to help your people. It’s not just because it’s my job. It’s also because I love you. I’d do anything for you. And I know how much your people mean to you.”

Julian looked up. Garak was staring at him. Any hint of a joyous expression was gone. It was replaced with something stoic. Not dark, but not light either. Julian had only seen such an expression once – when Garak left to return to Cardassia Prime. 

He paused and then fished the small blue ring box he’d been sent out of his pocket. One of the two rings he ordered, the one for Garak, was tucked inside. He ran his right thumb over the container. Then he closed the gap and knelt down on his left knee. His eyes never left Garak’s.

“This is something humans traditionally do to show their love. It’s the start to a more serious bond. To Enjoinment, as the Cardassians call it. I’d like you to be my only partner as long as we both live. Ideally, I’d like to spend the rest of our lives together, whether we stay here or go to Cardassia Prime. But it’s up to you to say yes. I know you dodge questions all the time, but this once, just this once, could you please be honest and blunt.”

Julian opened the ring box and showed the silver band inside with the nine clear stones that stood in a row, as a mark of the Cardassian built station they met on that adopted such a human name.

“Will you marry me?”

Garak’s eyes flicked to the ring. For a moment, in that stoic silence, Julian felt doubt. This wasn’t a good idea, was it? Garak wasn’t ready. He didn’t want commitment with a human. He would go back to Cardassia Prime and partner with someone of his own kind now, wouldn’t he? And then Julian would be alone on the station, with no love and no hope for it.

Then, Garak shifted forward in his seat and shifted his gaze to Julian’s eyes. Silence lingered for a moment. Then, a gentle smile grew on the Cardassian’s face.

“I will agree, on one condition,” Garak said, “If I’m required to wear this rather tasteless ring, then you must wear one as well.”

Julian’s smile grew.

“I already bought one for myself.”

“Then it’s decided.”

Garak took the ring from the box and examined it. Julian set the opened box onto the table and reached for it. Garak handed it to him. Julian gently took the Cardassian’s left hand and slid the narrow band on his ring finger. It fit nicely. Julian sighed with relief. Then he flicked his gaze up. Garak stared back. Then Garak moved in first and a fierce kiss met his lips. Julian leaned into it and rolled his thumb against Garak’s hand, and the ring that now resided on it.


	77. Worse Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Miles O'Brien, Julian Bashir
> 
> Warnings for suicidal thoughts and death mentions.
> 
> Prompt: _"Hard time," but it's Julian instead of Ee'char._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/157283098358/hard-time-but-its-julian-instead-of-eechar)]

Julian was alive.

Sure, Miles knew the last twenty years he’d envisioned were fake – a punishment for an espionage crime he hadn’t committed – but it was still jarring to see the young Doctor Bashir smiling politely at him in the docking ring. Julian had been with him those twenty years. At least, Miles thought Julian had been. And then, those last two weeks…

The surprise must have been clear on his face, as the young man’s joyous expression faded into concern.

“Chief, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

At least, he would be fine, Miles assured himself. It would take a day, maybe two, and then the events in that cell would fade, only to replay at night with the other terrible images that clouded his mind in the darkened hours.

Julian asked him questions about his experience in that prison. Miles answered curtly, as he often did when Julian pried into his business unwarranted, but didn’t stop him. He was happy to hear Julian talk again. Almost as happy as he had been when his cell doors opened and Julian was pushed in one week after his imprisonment started. That Julian – the false one – said that he’d been tried and convicted of espionage after he went looking for Miles. He should have known then that something was off, but Miles was so happy for the company that he didn’t dare question it. He should have.

“Were you alone in there?” the real Julian asked him. It pulled Miles away from that cell, from that initial meeting. He paused.

“Yeah, I was alone.”

He didn’t dare look at Julian when he answered.

Julian tried to come up with ways to take out those false memories. But everything he came up with involved erasing everything. No one wanted that. So Miles assured everyone, even Julian, that he’d be fine. He came from worse. He would manage.

But every night it was the same. He’d crawl into bed and dream about that cell, about Julian, about their graceless aging, their stupid sand drawing games that Julian started, their mindless conversations, about the food, the fights, _the_  fight. Then, every time, it ended with that scream – that hoarsely inhuman sound that Julian pushed out just before Miles reeled back and–

Woke up.

It was draining. All of it. The dreams, the memories, Julian being alive, the young man’s bright face, his smile, his laugh. That was the worst part of the whole thing. If it had been anyone else, Miles could have moved on. But seeing Julian alive and knowing what he’d done, what he was capable of doing… that was the part of wanted him dead.

It was likely the same part that suddenly made the older, false Julian appear.

He saw the phantom first in the replimat. Miles had to do a double-take. He’d been convinced, somehow, that he’d simply aged Julian unconsciously in his mind after another fitful night. But no, he hadn’t. The older Bashir was there, staring at him, smiling that same kind smile that remained unchanged throughout their captivity. Miles skittered off, afraid to look back at that familiar, unwanted face.

Miles started seeing a therapist not long after that first encounter, but he never brought up the false Julian. He’d hoped it would be the last time he’d appear. It hadn’t been. Then he saw the older Julian more and more regularly. Then, in the solitude of his work, when the older Julian arrived, Miles finally spoke to him.

“You’re more annoying that the real Julian, and that’s saying something.”

“You can’t get rid of me, Chief,” the false Julian answered. “Not like this.”

“The hell I can’t,” Miles answered. The false Julian sighed.

“Chief, if you just–”

“I don’t need advice from _you_.”

Silence. Miles looked around. The aged Julian was gone.

But he’d come back again and again and again. Each time, words were exchanged. Each time, Julian tried to give him advice. Each time, Miles brushed him off. He wasn’t real. Nothing about that twenty year imprisonment was. Julian Bashir was alive, young, active, working in the infirmary or chasing around girls on the station. This aged Bashir that came in and out was nothing but a false memory, an implant. He could get by without seeing it. He would just have to go without seeing the real Julian for a while. Yeah. That was the best.

Miles avoided all doctors for ten days. At least, he wasn’t seeing any that were alive. The phantom Julian kept showing up, his aged face a reminder of what he’d done. Miles didn’t bother speaking to the elder doctor anymore. He was just there. Filler. Nothing more. As long as he didn’t speak to Julian, the older figure didn’t speak to him. That’s why he’d been surprised when he heard the English accented, “Chief,” echo from behind him. He tried to ignore it, but a slender figure got in his way. The younger, irritated, yet concerned face of Bashir cut in front of him.

“Chief. I got a message from the counselor saying you haven’t been seeing her.”

Miles skirted passed him.

“I don’t need to see her.”

“You can’t keep going through your life like nothing happened. You were there and you have to accept that. She can help you–”

“There’s nothing to help with, Julian. Leave me alone!”

And like that, the young doctor backed away. Miles took off to Quark’s. It was possible Julian would follow him there, but at least there would be others to distract him.

Julian, though, hadn’t followed him. Miles took a seat, ordered, and waited. And waited. And waited. His patience drained. He wanted a drink and Quark was taking too long. Far, far too long. When Quark came by again and made some snide comment, Miles grabbed him by the ear, slammed him down against the bar counter, and demanded his drink before he broke every bone in the Ferengi’s body. When he let go, when eyes were on him, Miles left. He thought that would be the end of it. He was wrong.

After the incident, Miles was ordered to see Captain Sisko. Because of his lash out and Julian’s explanation that Miles hadn’t been seeing his psychologist, Miles was barred from active duty and ordered to see the psychologist immediately. Miles was angry. No, livid. But the the last thing he was going to do was see Julian about it. It would start a fight which would escalate and then…

Miles returned to his quarters. Keiko looked up at him with wide eyes. She started asking questions. Molly, his beloved daughter, started bombarding him with pleas for attention. The onslaught of words and the deep betrayal he felt boiled over and for a fraction of a second, he turned on his daughter. He almost hit her. He saw the fear wrap against her innocent features and that fear bubble over into tears. She sobbed. Keiko picked up their young child and Miles took off for an isolated area. He found a storage unit, picked up a wrench, and started beating empty containers as his mind raced.

This was his fault. It started with that imprisonment, with the aged Bashir, with that fateful fight. It stripped away who Miles was and replaced him with an animal that would turn on others and attack without warning. There was no understanding anymore. There was just a dark beast roaming under his skin. He couldn’t stay alive. He was harmful to his family, to the people on the station, to Julian.

Miles slowly turned to the weapons locker, unlocked it, and pulled out a phaser. He stared at the device for a moment before he pumped it up to max and sat down. It was for the best. It was. All of it. He would die and everyone would be safe. He closed his eyes and pressed the phaser point under his jaw. This was it. Everyone would be safe. All he had to do was push the button. One. Two–

“Chief.”

Julian’s voice came from his left. Miles peered over, expecting to see the aged version standing next to the shelf. It wasn’t, though. It was the living one. The real one. The young face was filled with concern. Miles glanced forward again and closed his eyes.

“Get out of here Julian,” he said. It was almost a whisper. There was a pause.

“You don’t want to do this, Chief.”

Miles scoffed.

“The hell I don’t.” His voice shook. He could hear Julian slowly advance.

“Look, I don’t claim to know what you’re going through, but whatever it is, it’s not worth dying for.”

“You don’t understand at all,” Miles whispered. Tears began to sting his eyes. His fingers tightened a little against the plastic of the phaser. “I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing it to protect Keiko and Molly and you. And everyone else on this station.”

“Protect us from what?”

“From _me_.” Miles looked up at Julian then. The doctor’s brow was knit, the brown eyes soft yet determined. Miles glanced away again. “I’m not the man I used to be. I’m dangerous.”

Miles paused. He knew saying he was dangerous wasn’t enough to get Julian to leave. So, he inhaled. The wind shook like his own soul.

“I nearly hit Molly today,” he said. He could feel the tears threaten to spill over as he recounted the moment. “All she wanted was a little attention and I nearly hit her.” A tear escaped them, along with a soft sob that went with his words.

“But you didn’t,” Julian answered. “You’re a good man, Miles Edward O’Brien. And whatever it is you think you’ve done wrong, you don’t deserve to die.”

Miles scoffed again.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Miles murmured.

“What do you mean?” Julian sounded confused. Miles peered at him again. For a moment, the younger face was all he saw. Then, from behind the young doctor, Miles spied the older one, the false one. The one he’d…

“Tell him,” the phantom whispered.

Miles looked down and swallowed.

“You were with me in that cell.”

There was a pause.

“You told me you were alone,” Julian said. Miles chuckled. Oh, how he wished he had been. He looked up at Julian again.

“I was in the first and the last week. But the rest of the time, you were there.” Miles exhaled. His breath shook. He looked away again. “You said that you came looking for me. That you’d been convicted of espionage like I had because of your search.”

“What happened to me?” Julian asked.

Miles didn’t want to tell him. He didn’t want to say. It would drive Julian away, sure, but admitting what he’d done, admitting to the violence, the anger, the beastly behavior. No. He’d rather die. But Julian deserved to know. And maybe it would be enough understanding for Keiko and Molly.

Miles closed eyes and sucked down another breath. Slowly, he dropped the phaser from his jaw but kept his clutched in his fingers and kept it pointing up. “Sometimes the guards wouldn’t feed us for days. This was the longest we’d gone without food. We joked about it at the time, but… in the middle of the night, I saw you rummaging in the wall. I thought you were hiding food from me and I was so hungry. I’d confronted you about it. It turns out that you were hiding it for both of us and you were waiting for the best time to take out what you had saved. It was night then. The guards wouldn’t have seen it. But I was awake and I thought that you were waiting for me to be unaware of you so I fought you and…”

His voice faded to nothing. He swallowed down tears.

“You killed me?”

It wasn’t stated as a question. It wasn’t angry either. It was a polite, soft tone that was almost medicinal in nature. Miles looked up at Julian’s young face. There was nothing but compassion lingering in the man’s expression. Miles nearly sobbed under that gaze.

“The worst part of it was,” Miles said. Two tears escaped. He swallowed and inhaled. “The next day the guards began feeding me again.” His eyes flicked back to Julian. “I killed you for nothing. For a scrap of bread that you were going to share with me.”

“But it was a mistake, you didn’t mean it,” the real Julian whispered.

Miles scoffed again and nodded slowly.

“I meant it,” he whispered back. He took in a slow breath. “I wanted you to die.”

Miles pressed his lips to hold back the sobs that wanted to escape.

“I keep telling myself,” he said, his voice choked with the agony that threatened to spill out of him in tear-stained waves, “It didn’t matter. It wasn’t real. But that’s a lie. It was real to me then. You were my best friend, you are, and I murdered you.”

Miles inhaled through his nose. Snot rattled against his nostrils.

“When we were going up,” he continued, eyes trained on the ground, “They used to tell us humanity had evolved. That mankind had outgrown hate and rage. But when it came down to it, when I had the chance to show that no matter what anyone did to me, I was still an evolved human being I… I failed. I repaid your kindness with blood. I was no better than an animal.”

“No, no, no, no,” Julian answered, his voice soft, still, despite the implications of that dreaded fight, despite the fact that Miles had taken his life. “An animal would have killed me and never had a second thought, never shed a tear. But not you, you hate yourself. You hate yourself so much, you think you deserve to die. But you don’t. The Argrathi did everything they could to strip you of your Humanity and in the end, for one brief moment, they succeeded. But you can’t let that brief moment define your entire life. If you do, if you pull that trigger, then the Argrathi will have won. They will have destroyed a good man. You cannot let that happen, my friend. Not when I forgive you for what you’ve done.”

Julian was right. Despite the attack, the death, everything, he didn’t deserve to die. Not when Julian, the man he killed, was still alive, telling him that he was worthy, that he deserved to live, to win. That’s why, when Julian reached for the phaser and gently pulled it from his grasp, Miles didn’t resist. Silence hovered around him. Then the elder Julian moved and caught his glance. The gentle smile of the phantom remained as he walked back.

“Live a good life, Chief. You deserve it,” the phantom said. Then he turned and vanished. And yet, he would always be there, in the kind face that so readily forgave him for what he’d done. He wasn’t worthy. And yet, both Julians said otherwise.

They were fools. But they were kind, right fools. Just this once.


	78. Fall and Rise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, Benjamin Sisko, Tora Ziyal, Gul Dukat, Worf, Martok, Enabran Tain
> 
> Warnings for character death and sad things.
> 
> Prompt: _Changeling Julian gets killed before the events of In Purgatory's Shadow/By Inferno's Light, with the rest of DS9 still unaware that it's not the real Julian Bashir._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/157367835968/changeling-julian-gets-killed-before-the-events-of)]

The promenade was full of shadows. Laughter and chatter and lengthy figures that dance through the crowds and lead to various locales – the replimat, the infirmary, Quark’s. Garak didn’t follow them, didn’t stare. They were false; memories of a man who disintegrated in a targeted infirmary attack weeks prior. They, in time, would fade, as the source had. Garak hoped his pain would fade with them.

He should have known better than to fall in love. As if such a thing could be prevented.

Garak cut into his shop and allowed the doors to close behind him. Silence surrounded him. Silence and fabrics for people still lingering on the station, yearning for something beyond their drab styles and insignificant lives. They wouldn’t wait long. This sewing work, as dreadful as it was, was all he had now. Well, that and the few beings on the station that still cared for him, despite his growing distance between them.

One of those figures was likely responsible for the door opening behind him. He reached for a fabric and appeared to be examining it for rips and off seams.

“I’m afraid the shop hasn’t opened quite yet,” Garak said.

“Then it sounds like you have time to look over an encoded transmission.”

Ah, Captain Sisko. Purely work related. A matter that Garak could certainly handle, no matter how unraveled his emotions had become.

“I’m flattered that you would find me useful in such a situation,” Garak said, “But I fail to see how helpful I can be with any encoded transmissions you may have come across.”

“It’s Cardassian.”

Oh, how the tide turns. Garak took the transmission and looked it over. Immediately, he knew who it was from and his agony lifted away, if only for a moment. A weight returned. One not foreign to him, certainly. He’d grown accustom to the feel over the years, even when the figure was a distance shadow lingering behind him.

Enabran Tain. He was alive, using an encryption that he and Garak had crafted together to ask for help. Not just help for himself, either. Others were with him, captured by the Dominion. He was asking Garak for help. Specifically him.

Garak read over the transmission again. He had to go. There was little on the station for him now. Even if the transmission turned out to be false, which was highly unlikely, he had to risk his life to save the only man left the universe that was important to him. But he couldn’t include anyone else. There was too much risk in that matter.

He took the transmission back to Captain Sisko and, with a soft smile, stated, “I’m afraid it’s nothing more than an outdated planetary survey.” Captain Sisko seemed to believe him. It didn’t matter to Garak whether Sisko fully trusted his interpretation of the transmission or not. He wouldn’t be on the station long enough to face the repercussions of his actions.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t simply steal a runabout and rush off the station. He had to calculate the best moment to slip away from the figures and shadows, from the pain and anguish. That meant drifting through the crowds once more, if only to appear normal. So, arrived at his shop, began his work, and then met Ziyal on the promenade for their weekly meal. Even if the empty seat at their table caused his agony to swell beyond his heart’s hold, he sat and spoke and smiled at the young woman that became his sole, trusted companion. Her innocence, after all, mirrored that of the lost Julian Bashir’s, if only minutely. Her understanding of him, too, was similar.

“You really think that it’s just a planetary survey?” she asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

“And you’re not going to keep looking into it?”

“Of course not. There is little else to look into. Why do you ask?”

“I never saw you as the giving-up type, that’s all.”

How right she was. But that was a matter he would discuss with her another time. Conversation changed. It didn’t turn to the obvious vacancy, though it was clear that Ziyal wanted to take it that way. Garak, however, danced the conversation around the matter until lunch was over and he was able to depart. This time, away from the replimat, he allowed himself to shake the feeling of loneliness as he stepped into the shop. No one was there. If someone showed up, they would find the place void of anyone else. Clothing was hardly his concern now.

He slipped from the shop and took the back halls to his quarters where he packed a back of necessities. Then, he strode silently through the habitat ring and entered the docking ring. There was a runabout there, waiting for use. He ducked inside, placed the bag down, and started going through the undocking process.

“Step away from the console, Mr. Garak.”

Ah, unfortunate. Garak turned. An unnamed Federation officer stood, gun pointed at him. If Garak wasn’t mistaken, the figure was in the replimat too, not far from where he and Ziyal were sitting. Perhaps Garak hadn’t been as believable as he would have liked. It didn’t matter. He was caught now, and he hoped the truth would be enough to sway Captain Sisko on the matter.

Garak allowed the officer to lead him to Captain Sisko’s ready room. The two officers discussed the matter before Sisko turned to Garak.

“Mr. Garak, I trust you have a good explanation for this.”

“The transmission you had me decode wasn’t a planetary survey,” Garak said, “It was a call for help from Enabran Tain. A mission of mercy. I believe that he’s being held captive by the Dominion and there are others being held with him, possibly some of the  Federation officers that have gone missing in the Gamma Quadrant over the years.”

“You’re certain it was from him?” Sisko asked.

“If there was any doubt, I would not be standing here, I assure you.”

Sisko seemed to question the matter carefully in his own mind. Then, it was decided. Garak would go and Worf would accompany him. Not the best companionship, but there was some entertainment to be had there, certainly. At the very least, Worf would be a rather delightful distraction from his far too focused mind. They readied for their trip. Where Worf had many matters to attend to, Garak only had one – saying “goodbye” to Ziyal.

They met at the upper level of Quark’s where Garak explained the situation in detail. She seemed fine with the answers she was given and certainly didn’t pry into the matter as the late Julian Bashir would have.

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” she asked.

“Of course.”

There was silence. A confession of some kind was lingering on Ziyal’s lips. Garak would have normally skated around the issue and made a fast exit, but given the matter, he allowed the silence in order to push what Ziyal had wanted to say all this time.

“I was afraid that, because of Doctor Bashir, you would leave and never come back. You always looked like you were in pain. I wanted to help, I just didn’t know how.”

“Your company has been more than enough,” Garak said. Ziyal looked away and smiled. It was a forced thing that faded quickly. She didn’t believe him. He didn’t believe himself either. He bit back a sigh and debated on his next move. Honestly, perhaps, was best. Even if he promised his return to her, it hardly meant that he would keep such a thing. And if Bashir’s absence had caused himself so much pain, no doubt his absence would pain Ziyal in a way that Garak could now understand, even if they shared an entirely different relationship.

“All pain passes, my dear,” he said, “It is not easy, but your company has proved to be delightful in these past weeks. You have been a good friend.”

Ziyal looked at him again. He smiled. It was one of the more honest ones he’d given as of late. The last time he shared a smile like this, Doctor Bashir was still alive and the recipient. He remembered the warmth he’d gotten in return – the human hands, the gentle kiss, the fingertips brushing along his neck – and then he tossed the memory away as Ziyal smiled in return.

“Then that’s what I’ll continue to be when you get back.”

“I look forward to it.” Garak bowed his head and stood. “Now, I’m afraid I must be going.”

Ziyal stood as well.

“Be safe,” she said.

“I will strive to,” he answered.

Then he turned. Although he had expected others to witness their little exchange of words, the eyes of Dukat peering at him were not what he expected.

“Garak.”

There was malice lingering in that name. Garak gave him a polite, toying smile, though he was hardly in the mood for such a thing.

“Dukat.”

Dukat closed the distance between them. Garak stood his ground and stared at the other in near defiance. He could see something tick there, behind the glint of those eyes. It was a smile. One that didn’t touch on the other Cardassian’s lips.

“You’re not going to replace your lost Federation toy with my daughter.”

“Father!”

Neither of them looked at her. Garak was sure they had different reasons for that lack of eye contact. His was simple enough – he didn’t want Dukat to see his pain that swelled and threatened to throttle the other Cardassian’s face with fists. No. He had more control than that. He remained poised, with that pressed smile on his face.

“You needn’t worry,” Garak said, “I would not resort to tactics that you would so readily use.”

He gave a nod to Dukat, looked towards Ziyal, nodded at her as a final goodbye, and then departed. A few eyes watched him as he exited, but who they belonged to was hardly important. They would whisper about the exchange between themselves and then it would be forgotten once he returned.

After meandering a while in the docking ring, he arrived at the runabout. Several officers, including Worf and Captain Sisko, were waiting. He nodded towards them, exchanged words with the other officers about their waiting orders, and then entered the runabout with Worf directly behind him. They left in silence. Once they were far enough away from the station, though, Garak intended to break it. However, Worf beat him to it.

“I never gave you my condolences,” he said.

Ah. A pity. Garak held back a sigh as he pressed buttons on the console.

“It hardly matters.”

That was all that was said about the matter, or anything else until they entered the wormhole. Shame how the death of someone important could kill someone’s drive for a little fun.

They crossed through the wormhole and drifted through the Gamma Quadrant. Garak did attempt conversation then, but it was hardly the playful topics he wanted to talk about prior to their small exchange. He had hoped the conversation would lift his spirits enough to prattle on about such things, but Worf’s lack of character really put a stop to that whole affair rather quickly. Garak opted for conversations about the replicators and tea. That conversation become one-sided, and then stopped entirely when Worf cut the warp engines.

“Is there something wrong?” Garak asked as he peered over.

“We can go no further,” Worf answered, putting in new commands into the console.

“What do you mean?” Garak asked.

“My readings indicate the source of that coded signal is deep within Dominion space,” Worf said, “I have strict orders to avoid unnecessary risk.” He sighed again. “We must turn back.”

Garak’s heart sank and twisted in the pit of his stomach. Oh, truly, a little risk to pinpoint where such a signal was coming from was worth it. But Worf would not be one to bend to that logic easily. He checked the scanners for a means to sway the Klingon. He had to at least try.

“Well, I certainly don’t want to take an unnecessary risk,” Garak said, pressing a few buttons on the console to pull up the sensor readings, “But our sensors show no sign of Jem’Hadar warships in this area.”

“True,” Worf answered. Garak looked over again. “But the likelihood of contact will increase from this point on, and my orders were very clear.”

“But we’ve come all this way,” Garak said, “To turn around now without an answer seems so–” Garak paused. He searched for a word that might sway the Klingon. Then he peered over again. “Un-Klingon.”

“I am also a Starfleet officer.”

Pity. This was proving to be far more difficult that Garak believed. But there were other ways to sway Worf. A little tactical maneuvering, perhaps. Garak stood and moved across the cabin to the long range sensor scans screen.

“Why don’t we go through this nebula?” Garak asked, pointing at the screen, at the cloud of blue that speckled against the far right. “We can avoid detection and get light-years closer to the source of the transmission.”

He looked at Worf again. There was uncertainly marring the Klingon’s expression. Good. This could work.

“Our shields would be useless in that nebula,” he said.

“So would Jem’Hadar sensors,” Garak answered. Worf didn’t answer him. Just a little more, then. “The answer is out there, Commander. We just have to have the courage to find it. And remember, it’s not just Tain we’re looking for. We’re also looking for Starfleet ships that have been lost in the Gamma Quadrant for years, and their crews. Brave soldiers, warriors of the Federation, unaccounted for. We owe it to them to do everything in our power to find them and bring them home.” He paused. “It’s the honorable thing to do.”

Worf finally looked at him. Silence. Garak felt his heart twinge. Then Worf looked away again.

“You use that world but you have no idea what it means,” Worf said.

“Maybe not, but you do.”

They exchanged a glance again. Then Worf looked at the long range sensor scan screen. There was a pause, a consideration, and then Worf turned to the console.

“Setting course for the nebula.”

Ah, wit and a little ingenuity never failed him. Garak returned to his seat to help set the course and continue the scans. They entered the nebula and adjusted as needed to avoid pockets of gases and anything else that might disrupt their flight. Garak watched the scans closely and allowed the changing readings to reoccupy his mind. He relayed what was needed and set everything else aside. Then, the readings picked up several large objects straight ahead.

“Now what could that be?” he asked, breaking the filtered communications.

“Whatever they are,” Worf said, “They are coming right at us.”

Garak peered up from the scanners and stared into the purple and blue waves of the nebula. It only took a moment before Jem’Hadar ships began to appear one after the other.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” Garak said. Worf said nothing. He didn’t have to.

They turned the runabout and started to flee. The Jem’Hadar weren’t far behind, or far ahead, for that matter. The possibility of escape seemed less and less likely. They exchanged a few short words about the matter, but that hardly changed anything.

“We must warn the station,” Worf said, “There is only one reason the Dominion would hide such a large fleet this close to the wormhole.”

In all the rush, Garak hadn’t considered why the Jem’Hadar vessels were that close. But now, as Worf brought up the matter, it was clear what they were trying to do. Though, Garak had no interest in assuming what the Klingon was thinking.

“You think they’re planning to attack the Alpha Quadrant?” Garak asked.

“I’m certain of it.”

The runabout shook. Garak checked the screens and watched the message, likely their only hope, attempt to sift through the nebula and back to Deep Space Nine.

“Your message is transmitting,” he said, “But it’s hard to tell if it’s getting through all this interference.”

“We’ve got to get clear of the nebula.”

The runabout shook again, then stopped. No warp power, no thrust engines. Garak felt the walls a little too close.

“What happened?” he asked with building panic, “Why aren’t we moving?”

“They have us in a tractor beam,” Worf answered.

Garak tried to give out orders, but it was far too late. The cabin was flooded with Jem’Hadar soldiers. Garak stood. “Ah, good. Perhaps you can help us. Can you give us directions to the wormhole?”

One of the Jem’Hadar soldiers closed the space between them, as limited as that space was, and jabbed him in the nose with the but of his rifle. Garak didn’t up a fight.

In truth, there were perks to this sudden arrangement. For one thing, it was possible they would be taken to Tain. If not that, then perhaps they would be killed and tossed into the refuge of space. In either case, it was very likely that Garak wouldn’t be feeling as much heartache anytime soon. The void would be filled with someone important, though not as precious, or be ripped out of him entirely. Although the latter option wasn’t too promising, it would at least keep him from missing the dear doctor he’d falling in love with.

But the longer he and Worf were alive, the more likely it seemed they would stay that way. A blessing, perhaps. Arrangements were made without their consent and soon Garak was back to speaking with his captors, attempting to rile information out of them through too much speech. He wasn’t making much progress on that front, but the eye rolls and glared from Worf certainly made the effort worth it.

Soon, in the company of three Jem’Hadar soldiers they were beamed to an unknown location. Garak attempted to rile up the lead guard, but his efforts earned him a harsh throat grasp and a few moments without oxygen. Not enough to render him unconscious, but enough for the lead soldier to prove his point.

Then, he and Worf were enlightened about the situation.

They were placed in Internment Camp 371. A rather drab title for a rather drab quadrant, if Garak had to say so. According to the soldiers, the only way out was death. They were given beds in barracks six and were free to move about, but there was nothing outside the camp but the vacuum of space. Charming. It felt like home already. Well, as much as anything could feel like home without Julian. He pushed that thought from his mind. It would come up later, no doubt, when matters were far older and the nights less forgiving.

They were escorted through the compound and taken ahead to a rather brutal fight. Though the rules of it were unclear, the combatants inside the ring were easy to see. A Jem’Hadar and a Klingon exchanged blows.

“General Martok,” Worf said beside him. The name wasn’t entirely familiar to Garak, though that hardly mattered. Worf knew of him. That was enough.

Punches continued. The Jem’Hadar landed one, then another, before Martok was smashed to the ground. The soldier went in for one last shot, but another Jem’Hadar called the match, leaving Martok alive, though clinging to the pain inflicted onto him. Garak looked at Worf, who glanced at him, before they moved ahead to help Martok off the ground. The Klingon was hardly able to stand on his feet with their help. Martok looked at Worf.

“Do I know you?” Martok asked.

“I am Worf, son of Mogh.”

“I’ve heard of you,” Martok answered.

Hardly the meeting Garak expected. Worf seemed so familiar with Martok, surely they had met in the past.

“How long have you been here?” Garak asked. Martok looked over with one eye. The other looked like it’d been ripped out a long time prior.

“Two years.”

How odd. Very unlike Klingons to live in captivity.

“Aren’t you Klingons supposed to kill yourselves when you’re taken prisoner?” he asked.

“Not when there are still enemies to fight,” Worf answered.

“Or hope of escape,” Martok added.

Both viable answers. Garak figured his matter in the conversation was over. Then, Martok spoke up again, his head turning to Worf.

“If you are Worf,” Martok said before looking back at Garak, “Then you must be Garak. He said you would come.”

Oh, what a fortuitous turn of events. They had been taken to the same location as Tain, then. Perhaps it was a strategic move by the Dominion. That was assuming they knew about the transmission at all. If they had, Tain wouldn’t be alive. Though, Martok certainly made it seem like he was.

Out of the gaze of Jem’Hadar soldiers, he and Worf were escorted by a slow, injured Martok to the barracks. The doors opened. Martok moved to the side of the room and pointed. In the far, right corner lay Tain, breathing, but otherwise out of it. Garak cut across the space. With each step, his heart sank further and further. Tain wasn’t well. Clearly. It was likely he had a similar, difficult time in captivity, though on the outside he seemed injury free.

“What’s wrong with him?” Worf asked.

“It’s his heart,” Martok answered.

“Really? There are many people who’d say he doesn’t have one.”

The answer came so quick from Garak’s lips that he hadn’t had time to consider that he, too, showed himself the same way. At least until Doctor Bashir’s unfortunate passing. Worf might have said something about it if Martok hadn’t spoken up first.

“He was convinced that you would come.”

“He knew I had no choice.”

Garak reached out and gently shook his father. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Martok and Worf leave. He was thankful for their absence.

“Tain. I’m here,” Garak said.

Tain awoke. His eyes were seen through weakened slits. There was nothing but professionalism there, though. Still. Garak should have expected as much. Through, there was still a possibility of something more, something better, something more fatherly.

“My message,” Tain said, “It got through.”

“It did,” Garak answered.

“Where are the others?”

“There are no others,” Garak said, “Just Commander Worf and me.”

Tain huffed and closed his eyes.

“You allowed yourselves to be taken prisoner? I thought you better than that. Living on that station has dulled your wits.”

He wasn’t wrong. Though Garak wasn’t about to confess any matters to the man. He had learned his lessons. The target of his affections was gone. If this lecture came at the tails of his relationship with a long dead doctor, the matter would be handled later. Especially since Tain himself had been responsible for far more pain and suffering than the good doctor ever had.

“That’s it?” Garak asked, “After all I’ve been through, that’s all you have to say to me?”

“What do you want me to say?” Tain asked.

“I want you to say, ‘Thank you, Elim. Your loyalty is most gratifying, I knew I could count on you.’”

“But I couldn’t count on you, could I?” Tain asked, “You didn’t come here for me. And even if you had, all you’ve done is to doom us. All of us.”

Garak wanted to ask what he meant by “didn’t come here for me”, but he didn’t get the chance. Tain was unconscious again. Garak sighed and looked at the ground. Truly, after all this time, he was still insufferable. He would never get what he wanted or needed out of that man. What was the point in trying anymore? All he had was himself and very little hope for escape.

Garak moved to the front of the barracks and stood close to the door. A few moments later, Worf and Martok returned. They had, likely, caught up on the events that unfolded from outside the camp. Martok hardly looked please. But that was not Garak’s immediate concern. They needed to get free from the camp. It was clear the two Klingons had the same motivation.

During his time at the camp, Tain had crawled behind the walls of the barracks to the life support system designed for the singular space. He had modified the system to send out a subspace transmission – the one they had received. There was a plan there, lingering under the folds of that information, but before anyone could toy with what that could be, the barracks doors opened and a Romulan stepped inside.

“They’re releasing him from isolation,” she said.

“Good,” Martok answered.

“Who?” Worf asked.

“A friend.”

Well that was certainly specific. Klingons truly weren’t ones for words. Garak exchanged a glance with Worf, hoping he had more answers, but Worf looked as lost as he did. They moved towards the door and waited.

Soon, a figure was shoved against the door frame. A Federation uniform, one of the older models, was hugged against the man’s skin. For one split second, his heart soared. But his mind batted the emotional swell away. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t his doctor. Doctor Bashir died. The infirmary attack. The disintegrated body. The casket. The unsaid words. And yet, the young man’s head lifted and that fire-filled hazel gaze caught his own and he knew.

Tain’s statement. “You didn’t come here for me.” He certainly wouldn’t have been the only motive if he knew that his dear doctor was with him. Assuming this was the doctor at all.

Garak kept his professional demeanor. Worf didn’t say anything about the matter. He was grateful for the lack of words on the subject. The Jem’Hadar soldiers that brought the doctor in left, giving them the chance to see how truthful everyone was being. They cut into fingers. Bashir was the last. Garak watched the young man prick his own finger and push live, red blood from his tan, dirtied skin.

“B-negative, in case anyone was wondering,” he said. Garak wasn’t. He already knew.

“When were you brought here?” Garak asked. Perhaps he had rushed the question. Julian, though, didn’t seem to mind. Wide, brown eyes stared up at him, pure and innocent, likely delighted but knowing what was on the line.

“Over a month ago.”

The explanation Julian provided was unimportant. Garak thought back to the infirmary attack, the fragments of Julian’s body that couldn’t be tested. A changeling, then. Perhaps they had believed Julian was the key to their plan, but realized far too late that Garak would discover the truth. Ending a relationship with him wasn’t so easy, especially when it came to Julian Bashir. So, death was the only answer. It was likely that someone else died in that attack and the changeling took their place, replacing their body parts to make it seem like Julian died instead. With no other causalities, it certainly seemed plausible.

Martok shared his story as well, then the information he’d learned from Worf, no doubt. The death of Klingons because of a changeling.

“I can only imagine what my replacement is up to,” Julian said. There was silence.

“I would not worry about that,” Worf answered.

“Why not?” Julian asked. “You both seem surprised to see me. There is a version of me on the station, isn’t there?”

“There was,” Garak answered, “But it’s possible they took on the role of someone else.”

“You mean I just disappeared?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Garak answered. “But that hardly matters at this moment. Commander, I believe that the changeling may still be aboard that station.”

“Then we must get off this station and warn Captain Sisko before that changeling carries out his mission.”

Garak couldn’t keep his eyes of Julian. He couldn’t help but notice the minute gestures and eye flicks, the edging of his smile as the plan unfolded, the glimmering light in his eyes. Slowly, the void in his heart was filled again, thought he memories of the funeral, of the tears, of the pity were still there, lingering under the surface of the conversation. He would have to explain it. No doubt everyone in the situation would be forgiven, but still, to explain. It certainly wouldn’t be a wondrous conversation.

Eventually, their little meeting ended. Garak left the small space for air and a larger space. Though the barracks were fine enough, it was hardly the space to have such a private conversation, especially since he knew Julian would be joining him shortly.

They passed through the man hall and ducked into an empty barracks. Garak’s back was to Julian only briefly until the doors closed. Then, he turned, wrapped his arms around the doctor, and pulled him in. The heavy smell of musk overtook him, but that hardly mattered. The warmth was Julian, the pulse was Julian, the being was, with no doubt, Julian. Longer arms wrapped around him.

“It is a delight to see you, my dear,” Garak whispered. He kissed Julian on the cheek, the jaw, the lips.

“I’m inclined to agree, but don’t you think this can wait?” Julian asked, “The Jem’Hadar could come in at any moment.” Garak stopped his advances. He hadn’t wanted sex, just contact. Without context, though, he could see why Julian thought that way. Garak glanced upon the doctor’s face again, on the eyes he treasured more than Andorian silk, and then looked away, easing his hold a little.

“I’m afraid matters become more complicated since your capture,” Garak said. “In your absence, there was an attack in the infirmary. There was only one casualty.”

There was a pause.

“Me.”

Garak nodded.

“Why?”

“I’m afraid I cannot answer that,” Garak answered, looking up that the young man’s face, “Though, if I had to guess, I believe that they underestimated how close the two of us had become and the changeling was looking for a means out before they were discovered.”

“So, they killed someone, made it look like me, and then took their place instead,” Julian said.

“It’s only a suspicion. It is possible that the attack was directed for you and the changeling was in the wrong place and the wrong time.”

“But you doubt that.”

“The first explanation is far more plausible.”

Julian looked away.

“How long ago did this happen?” Julian asked.

“Approximately two weeks ago.”

Julian looked up again and those eyes widened. How innocent and pure they looked, despite the terrible circumstances dancing on their lips.

“You thought I was dead for two weeks?”

“Believe me, my dear, if I had any inclination that the person inside your casket had not been you, I would have looked into the matter.”

There was a pause.

“Everyone on the station thinks I’m dead?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Julian’s eyes wandered away again. Garak watched the young man’s throat bob as he swallowed.

“Did anyone else miss me?” he asked.

“More than you could possibly know.” Garak kissed him on the lips again. “I’m quite sure many of them will be happy to tell you so once we’ve arrived back on the station.”

Julian nodded. His grip on Garak tightened. Garak kissed him again.

* * *

A few days and some rather intricate work later, and they were back on the runabout, heading towards Deep Space Nine. It was far more harrowing than Garak would have liked it to be, but the matter was settled and he, truly, was fine with that. After all, aside from Tain, everyone had survived, and the emptiness Tain left was nothing in comparison to the void that his alive Doctor Bashir filled.

Others felt the same.

After Doctor Bashir sent a priority one message to the station and tended to Worf and Martok in one of the cabins, they got within visual communication range. Immediately, Captain Sisko hailed and started looking for answers.

“It is really Doctor Bashir?” Sisko asked.

“I’m quite certain it is,” Garak answered, “If it had not been, I’m certain we would not have made it out of our captivity. Though I don’t believe Doctor Bashir will be opposed to any tests you wish to put him through.”

Bashir was forced through a number of trials. Garak couldn’t do anything to help him. He was quite certain the good doctor would manage well on his own anyway. Throughout the excitement of matters on the station, he decided to turn to Quark’s and Ziyal, who waited at a small table. He turned, spotted her, and approached.

“Ziyal,” he said. She looked up and smiled at him. Then she climbed to her feet and hugged him. He glanced around, his arms almost flat against his sides.

“I knew you come back,” she said.

No doubt she and Dukat traded words on the matter. He gave her a quick hug before she backed away.

“I’m not the only one who’s returned,” he said. He explained the situation. The more he added, the happier she became. She was rather fond of the good doctor, then. Her sadness wasn’t just in Garak’s misery. Under her questions, he answered what he wanted and skated around the rest, much as he always did. She was far more honest, however. Although she didn’t have all of the details, she did state that Dukat had stranded her on the station and that the Cardassians had formed some kind of alliance with the Dominion. Unfortunate, but he would no doubt be filled into the rest of the details later.

Near the end of her tale, Doctor Bashir walked into Quark’s. There was an applause, cheers, handshakes, smiles, hoots and hollers, and then the typical saloon chatter. Bashir looked like light as he moved from person to person, happy to be back and happier to see that people had truly missed him. There was something delightful in the man’s light body. He knew his worth, then. Perhaps there was nothing left for him to question.

When he approached the table, Ziyal stood and hugged him. Julian was far more prepared to hug back.

“It’s good to see you again,” she said.

“It’s good to see you too. I trust Garak has told you everything.”

“He did. I can’t believe you were in that camp for so long. It must’ve been terrible.”

“It’s nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Conversation continued. People came and greeted Julian from time to time, but it was all pleasant. When the hours ticked by and day drifted into night, Garak suggested that they turn in for the evening. Julian agreed. They said their goodbyes to Ziyal and departed for the good doctor’s quarters. When they arrived, they were barren.

“Captain Sisko said that they were getting the things back from my parents next week,” Julian said, “I guess they’ll be coming to the station to drop them off.” He didn’t sound thrilled about that. Something lingered there. Stories for another time.

“Then you may borrow some of my clothes to sleep in until I can make something else for you,” Garak said, “It should only take a day or two.”

“I’d hate to get in the way of your work.”

“I’m sure my other clients will understand.”

Julian smiled at him. It was bright, clear. Garak closed the space between them and planted a firm kiss on those lips.

“Now,” Garak whispered, “I believe a bath is in order. Perhaps some light music and low lighting as well.”

“That sounds nice,” Julian whispered.

Garak was sure it would feel nice too as he ran his fingers along Julian’s hands, taking in their warmth with glee.


	79. How Fitting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir (de-aged), Miles O'Brien, Benjamin Sisko
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: I would love to read the continuation, where he gets to meet Garak, and eventually get put back to his regular self... unless you already wrote that and I missed the link? [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/159404374183/i-just-finished-reading-six-adults-and-a-child-and)]
> 
> A/N: This is a continuation of Stay (chapter 4) and Six Adults and a Child (chapter 34). This is only when Jules meets Garak and has nothing about Julian getting re-aged.

Garak gave up on the idea of seeing Doctor Julian Bashir that afternoon for their weekly lunch outing. In truth, he gave up on seeing the dear doctor at all, at least for the foreseeable future.

The senior officers weren’t saying anything about the young man’s, now young boy’s, condition. Though others whispered possibilities throughout the promenade and developed theories behind the shuttered doors of their living quarters, Garak understood what such silence from those officers meant. He contributed to the whispers and the growing rumors for the entertainment of it, but he understood the dear doctor was no more a man than any other seven-year-old human could be and the Starfleet-headed staff had no idea why. Troubling. The officers had done their best to not make it Garak’s trouble, even though he’d offered assistance, but it still weighed on his mind even while he tailored.

Though, all trouble seems to find Garak in time.

Two days after they found the de-aged Julian, or Jules, as the young boy so wanted to be called, Garak’s shop doors opened and Chief O’Brien stepped in. The young boy was in his arms, wide brown eyes drifting from item to item as if enraptured by it all but unable to prioritize what he wanted to see. The boy’s body was draped in one of those rather appalling teal Starfleet uniform tops that the adult Bashir wore far too often. The request was clear enough, but Garak let O’Brien voice it.

“Captain Sisko wants clothes for Julia-” O’Brien paused. “For Jules. He says it doesn’t have to be tailored. Anything you have that he won’t trip on will do.”

“I’m afraid I don’t make clothes for children often, so I have nothing of the sort simply lying about,” Garak answered, stepping closer, though keeping his distance so the officer wouldn’t feel imposed upon. His movement, though, caught Jules’s attention. Those brown eyes flicked towards him and didn’t move away. It wasn’t fear that held the boy’s gaze though. It was something else. Something jovial.

“You didn’t make anything after you’d asked?” O’Brien asked. He seemed rather irritated.

“I was under the impression that my services were not required.”

“That hasn’t stopped you before,” O’Brien said.

“Perhaps not, but I had not wanted to waste the fabric. Since children are so limited on this station, there would be no one to sell the pieces to if they weren’t needed. Surely you can unders-”

“What are you?”

Jules’s rather rude interjection caused Garak to pause. He stared at the boy and offered a polite smile.

“I’m a Cardassian.”

Jules repeated ‘Cardassian’ to himself in a rather hushed tone before a smile blossomed on his face.

“I like your scales.”

He was far more forward than his adult counterpart had been, but no less delightful. Garak bowed slightly towards the boy.

“Thank you.” Garak stood again. “Tell me, would you like clothes of your own?”

Jules nodded. Streaks of his dark hair bounced with the movement. Garak look up to O’Brien’s face again and motioned towards his work counter.

“I would like to take his measurements, if you will allow such a thing.” Garak turned to gather his tailoring kit. He sensed movement towards the work table, though he paid it no heed. He heard a gentle placement and the excited shuffling of Jules. When Garak turned, he saw the young boy shifting the shirt back and forth in slow motions. A relieving of energy, no doubt. He had no ability to run about in such clothing, as children should do, so he had to find other methods of hyperactive release. Garak couldn’t blame him.

Garak walked to the work table, kit in hand, and began the measurements. Despite the doctor’s adult height, this child was quite small. It wouldn’t take much fabric to clothe the boy. How delightful. He did have quite a bit of leftover fabric that could be used to make several items. He considered patterns, cuts, seams, shape. Once the measurements were taken, he placed the tools aside.

“If you’d like,” Garak said, his eyes flicking to O’Brien, “I can hem the shirt so he can move about without effort. He will likely have to replace the shirt when he’s returned to normal, but it will at least provide the young boy with the freedom he desires until this evening, when I can provide him with a proper replacement.”

O’Brien’s gaze flicked to Jules who, when Garak stopped taking measurements, started flapping his arms as if he was attempting to take flight. The movements were hindered by the length of the sleeves, which pooled against the work table beside the teal bottom.

“That’d be good,” O’Brien said.

“Excellent. Give me one moment to find some suiting thread.”

Garak moved to the backroom. While there, as he examined the threads he had meticulously stowed away, he heard O’Brien attempt to quell the young boy’s movements. There was, clearly, no success as his words were ended by a heavy sigh and Jules’s giggling. Garak returned to them with matching thread and a portable hemming device. Jules was still waving his arms. But O’Brien looked deflated, his hands extended to meet Jules’s arms but unwilling to touch them. Garak inserted the thread into the hemming device and moved in.

“Jules,” he said. Brown eyes moved towards him. The motion of the boy’s arms dramatically slowed. “Allow me to stitch up the arms and bottom of your shirt so you have the freedom to move about on your own.”

The boy considered this. But once the choice was made, Jules’s arms stopped and fell to his side. Garak reached, guided one up to a ninety degree angle, and started to roll up the sleeve fabric. As he was doing so, the door to his shop opened.

“I’m afraid any orders will have to wait until tomorrow,” Garak said as he folded the arm fabric up to the young boy’s wrist.

“It’s a good thing I’m not here to place an order then.” Ah, Captain Sisko. “Chief, one of the turbolifts is down.”

“I’ll take care of it, sir.”

Garak heard him leave. Sisko stayed. Before he could ask, Garak filled in Sisko on the clothing situation and explained, as he started hemming, why he was stitching up the young boy’s shirt. Little was said by the captain during the exchange.

Once the first sleeve was finished, Garak moved to the second and mirrored his work. As he rolled up the sleeve, though, one of his fingers brushed against the underside of Jules’s warm arm. The boy flinched.

“Your hand is cold,” Jules said. Garak stretched the boy’s arm out again through the fabric with a smile still on his face.

“Both my hands are quite cold.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid Cardassians don’t hold the same body heat as humans or Bajorans.”

“Why?”

“We are simply made differently.”

“Why?”

“One would argue that it has to do with the planets that we’re from. Cardassian Prime is far hotter than Earth or Bajor, so Cardassians have adapted to living in hotter climates. Therefore, in cooler climates such as these, I feel cold.”

“Why do you live here?” Jules asked.

“I was exiled from my home world.”

“ _Why_?” This question was far more distressed than the previous iterations had been. Garak let his smile grow a little as he brought the hemming device to the rolled up sleeve.

“I failed to pay my taxes.”

“What are taxes?”

“Annual fees that must be paid to the government.”

“Why did you not pay them?”

“I disliked the government.”

“Why?”

“You have no shortage of questions, do you, Mister Bashir?”

Garak looked up. Jules was smiling at him. Ah, innocence. Plenty of it, in fact. The senior officers were fortunate Garak had not been the man he was years ago. Though de-aged and unaware of adult memories, Jules was still Chief Medical Officer Julian Bashir. Re-aging would take time, certainly, but Cardassian scientists could figure that out. Once they did, de-aging and re-aging other officers for information would be simple. And so would the transport of the children. Yes, they were very fortunate indeed.

Garak ushered the thought away and returned to hemming the shirt sleeve. Once that was done, Garak turned to the bottom hem. He was careful not to touch the young boy’s feet as he worked. Soon enough, the fabric was tucked and hemmed, allowing Jules the freedom he so clearly needed moments before.

“I do believe that will hold until I can provide you with suitable replacements this evening,” Garak said. He stepped away. Sisko closed in.

“What do you think, Jules? Will that do for now?” Sisko asked. Jules nodded. Sisko picked up the boy and placed him on the floor. Immediately, Jules started running around the store, giggles abound. Garak watched the boy roam for a moment before looking at Sisko again. “Send the receipt to my office once everything is made.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Mister Garak-”

“Consider it a very small favor.”

The implications of this didn’t sit will with Captain Sisko. Garak could tell. But he knew Sisko wouldn’t say ‘no’. And he didn’t. Nods were exchanged and Sisko headed for the door.

“Come on, Jules. We’ll come back later and get you some clothes.”

Jules ran for the door, stopped, turned, and gave Garak a huge smile.

“Bye-bye!”

And he was gone before Garak could even return the farewell. It hardly mattered. Jules would be back in time. As would Sisko, who followed the boy out the door.


	80. The Bonds Between Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Established Garashir. Warnings for BDSM mentions and vague flashbacks to interrogation scenes.
> 
> Prompt: _i've read some garak/bashir fics where it enters the realm of bdsm but much fewer where they actually have a conversation about it... esp in regards to garak's former job and what behaviors he's comfortable repeating outside an interrogation chamber. could you write something where garak and bashir negotiate those boundaries?_ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/159784913658/hey-i-had-a-prompt-for-you-if-youre-still)]

Garak questioned his dear doctor’s lack of distrust quite often over the course of their companionship.

During the first few years of their camaraderie, such questions never arose. Doctor Julian Bashir was interested in Garak as one would be interested in ancient mysteries some Earth writers prattled on about. It hardly represented trust. But at their relationship grew into something deeper and then more intimate, Garak find Julian’s trust concerning, even alarming. That evening, as the doctor spoke eagerly about a rather unexpected sexual interest, Garak felt his concern rise like the heat on a searing Cardassian day, especially when details of the practice slipped from the man’s human lips.

“My dear,” Garak said, cutting the man’s words short, “I don’t mean to interrupt your rather passionate explanation, but are you quite certain this is something you wish for us to do?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have said anything if I wasn’t interested.”

Garak frowned. Julian’s smile, once broad, faded quickly.

“Is something wrong?” Julian asked.

“My dear, you do remember that I once interrogated people for information, correct?” Garak asked.

“Yes.”

“And you do remember I was quite good at it.”

“I remember.”

“And now you’re explaining to me why restraining you during any sort of sexual intercourse would be a welcome addition to our already questionable relationship.”

“If you’re not interested, we don’t have to do it.”

“It’s not a matter of interest, my dear, it’s a matter of trust. We have spoken quite often about how Cardassians are not to be trusted, yet you stand before me with this rather absurd idea and the belief that I will not take advantage of your vulnerability.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me unless I asked you to,” Julian said. His matter-of-fact tone on the subject was hardly a welcome addition to the conversation. Garak felt tension rise beneath his scales. He rose with it and crossed behind Julian slowly. The doctor’s gaze went with him, but his body didn’t turn. That, too, was a mistake.

“You can never be too certain of such things, my dear. You may know a few details about my past, but that hardly equates to knowing all of them. I could have ties to some rather unseemly characters who would love a chance at a bound Federation doctor in ways that would hardly be pleasurable for you. And by handing me such control, you could be putting yourself in quite a bit of danger.”

Garak reached, grasped Julian’s wrists, and yanking them behind the small of his back. His grip tightened. Julian’s pulse was even beneath the tips of his fingers, even when a soft grunt escaped the doctor’s throat. Brown eyes were still on him, but their trusting glow never changed.

“It would be foolish to give me this kind of power, doctor.”

“It’s not foolish at all.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“If you really had such connections, you would have dragged me to them by now. Cardassians don’t have bondage practices like humans do. And since I haven’t spoken to anyone else on the station about my interest, you couldn’t have possibly known that I was going to ask you about this. You’re just trying to make me distrust you under the guise that you want me to distrust all Cardassians.”

“If this were true,” Garak said, “Then why would I wish for you to distrust me?”

“Because you don’t believe you’re worthy of my trust.”

Worthy. Oh, that was certainly laughable. Everyone on the station had Julian’s trust whether they deserved such a thing or not. Even Quark had his trust, as his prized dartboard had been hanging on the bar wall for years. Garak nearly voiced the thought and his rather brash reaction to the doctor’s declaration, but he hesitated.

In truth, he would truly never hurt his dear doctor. And he really had no connections to anyone that would want Julian Bashir for information, or anything else that could be potentially harmful for him, for that matter. Having the doctor restrained in bed - if such practices were done in bed - would bring the man no serious harm beyond what he asked for. And yet, Garak was adamant about pushing this distrust. It was true that many Cardassians couldn’t be trusted with such power, but the same could be said about humans, Bajorans, and many other races across the universe. Julian knew this. That’s likely why such interests hadn’t been voiced with previous partners. So why push such an agenda? Why make the doctor believe he couldn’t be trusted?

Garak’s eyes flicked to his hands, to Julian’s wrists, to the eased curl the doctor’s fingers settled in. He felt the pulse, as he’d felt the pulse of others so many times before. The cuffs would come next, typically, though there was more movement, more resistance. A broken hand or arm would do the trick. Then the screaming would start. With others, such screams were good - the show of breaking. But with Julian, his Julian, such screams would be echoed throughout the small space and Garak’s hands would be to blame. The brown skin would bruise, blood would seep, tears would streak, and then… and then…

“Garak?”

His gaze lifted to Julian’s face again. Finally, concern stared back at him. But Garak knew it wasn’t concern for Julian himself. No. It was concern for Garak. Quickly, he composed himself, smiled, and released the doctor’s wrists. Julian immediately turned to face him.

“It would be unwise to add such an element to our relationship, my dear.”

“Why?”

 _I could not bear the thought of hurting you_.

“I simply do not believe it will add anything meaningful to what we already have,” Garak said.

“It brings more trust,” Julian answered.

 _But your screaming_.

“Ah, but we already have plenty of that, my dear, whether I agree with it or not.”

“Then I don’t understand–”

 _Your wounds_.

“It truly is for the best.”

“Why are you trying to dodge the conversation?”

 _Your pleas for mercy_.

“I’m doing no such thing, my dear. I simply believe–”

“You’re afraid of hurting me, aren’t you?”

The epiphany was clear on the doctor’s face. As clear as the concern had once been. The swelling panic that coursed through Garak’s mind fell silent. He needed to deny it. He needed to lie. But the little fibs that might explain his dislike of such practices would be easily uncovered by the doctor’s knowing gaze. There was no escaping, no release, no toying with the doctor on this one. There was only the truth which fell too heavy on Garak’s heart. His dear Julian, though, allowed his expression to ease into one reserved for the most serious of moments.

“Bondage isn’t meant to be torture, Garak. It’s meant to be pleasing for the both of us.”

“And how would I find such a practice pleasing?” There was an edge to Garak’s voice that he had not intended to share. Julian’s expression didn’t change. His gaze never wavered.

“You’ve been saying for months that I go through sex too quickly. Restraining me would give us the chance to go at your pace since I wouldn’t be able to use my hands.”

“But then you could not resist me if I were to go to far.”

“We could have–”

“And if I were to break your skin or cause you harm, you would be unable to defend yourself.”

“Garak–”

“All you would be able to do is scream and you are quite loud as it is. I cannot be involved in such–”

“Elim.”

The use of his first name caused Garak to pause. Julian so rarely used it that the abnormality of it jarred his mind. The intended purpose, no doubt. Julian filled the silence with a sigh. His brown eyes never drifted away.

“Some people who participate in these types of practices write up a contract. It helps specify how far each person is willing to go. With that, we also come up with a safe word. If I feel like you’re crossing a line or I’m getting uncomfortable with how it’s progressing, I use that word to tell you to stop.”

“And you’d use it?”

“If I needed to, yes. I know what I can take and what I can’t.”

Garak stared at the doctor’s face a moment longer before he glanced out the window of Julian’s quarters. The stars were there, just as they always had been. The familiarity, though, was hardly a comfort.

“If you don’t want to do this, I understand,” Julian said. “I’m not going to make you do anything that you’re not comfortable with.”

His eyes returned to Julian, to that somber face, to the caring brown eyes that stared back at him. Though the serious nature of such a stare wasn’t as familiar as the black, speckled expanse outside, there was far more comfort to it. Julian loved him. Julian cared for him. Julian didn’t want to see him suffer. It was those same feelings that urged this resistance. And those same feelings that crumbled Garak’s resolve.

“Perhaps it is worth trying,” Garak said, “Though I do want a contract written before we consider putting such practices to use.”

“Of course,” Julian answered. A soft smile returned to the doctor’s face. Garak moved towards it and traded the smile for a kiss. It was a gentle exchange that likely voiced more about his love and care than any bedroom practices ever could.


	81. In Person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, two OCs of non-importance
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: _I just finished ds9 and I'm desperately need something post-canon, mb even after A Stitch in Time, when Julian is trying to go to Cardassia for some reason but gets detained on the border because of smt and has the "one call" right. And then it takes whatever direction you prefer ;) I hope you aren't too busy and you still accept prompts._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/159821401038/your-writing-is-incredible-sending-love-and)]

_You’re always welcome, Doctor._

Julian was sure Garak meant that. And he was also certain that there was more there than the simple “come and visit” undertones. He was so certain that he resigned his post on Deep Space Nine and made arrangements to go to Cardassia. It’s wasn’t a visit. He intended to stay. What he would do, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t even sure Garak would approve. But the novel length series of letters was more than enough to remind Julian where he truly wanted, and needed, to be.

Without reaching out to Garak for approval, Julian packed his things and took a series of shuttles to Cardassia Prime. The entire journey took forty-nine hours. Far too long, for Julian’s liking, but it was done. And he arrived on the planet in the Cardassian filled transport a little bleary but otherwise prepared for the journey that lie ahead.

Julian waited in line as the people on the shuttle were ushered through check-in one at a time. His singular bag with his various belongings was slung over his white button-up and rested against his black clothed hip. His right thumb brushed over his passage slip, over the Cardassian letters that read off the departure time, the expected landing time, the seat he was given, and how much he’d paid for it. Under it, tucked between his middle and pointer fingers, was his identification, complete with a picture and his changed employment status. He handed the slip and the ID over to the Cardassian soldier who stood poised at the entrance to the city’s central station. He assumed the transaction would go smoothly. But steeled blue eyes met his own brown ones.

“Your paperwork isn’t complete. I can’t let you through,” the Cardassian said, handing the information back. Julian blinked and reached for it, but let his hand hover over the paperwork.

“I thought all I needed was an ID and a ticket.”

“Anyone who’s not Cardassian also needs personal verification from a Cardassian citizen.”

Julian gently took back the ticket and his identification.

“I do know someone here. Can I call him and get that verification?”

“A Cardassian soldier will have to escort you to a communication line and remain with you during the course of the call.”

“That’s fine.”

The soldier waved over another. This one was taller, broader, and seemed more suspicious of him. That didn’t matter. He gave the soldier a nod as information was exchanged. Then the soldier led Julian to a door at the very back of the building. The door was opened and Julian stepped in first.

The room had no other doors despite being connected to the rest of the building. There was furniture at least, but it only amounted to two metal chairs and a table that housed the communications booth.

“Do you know who you want to call?” the soldier asked. The door closed behind him. Julian looked back at him.

“Elim Garak.”

The soldier’s head lifted slightly. Hesitation. Silence. Then the soldier recited Garak’s communication line number. No doubt the had every single one memorized. Julian headed to the console and input the numbers. Text remained on the screen for a moment, then another. Maybe Garak wasn’t awake. Maybe he was away. Maybe he had other matters to attend to. Maybe –

The text flashed away and Garak’s face appeared. It looked grave at first, but as Julian smiled, so did he.

“My dear doctor,” Garak said, “What a pleasure it is to see you. I was not aware that the central office was connecting calls from outside Cardassia Prime.”

“They’re not. I’m on Cardassia.”

“You are!” Delight. Pure delight. Julian felt relief wash over him. “Then I suspect you’re calling me because the soldiers won’t allow you to enter the city.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I’m quite aware there’s a soldier with you at this moment. Likely… Sadut, yes?”

“That’s correct.” The Cardassian spoke, but didn’t move into view. Julian glanced at the soldier and then looked back at the screen. Garak’s smile never faded.

“Excellent. Sadut, I will be arriving within the next fifteen minutes to provide verification. Do take care of the good doctor until I arrive.”

“I will.”

“Thank you, Garak,” Julian said.

“You’re quite welcome. I will see you shortly.”

The communication ended. The door immediately opened and Sudat ushered Julian out the door. By the time they arrived back with the other Cardassian soldier, the line of passengers was gone through. Only the open shuttle remained. The Cardassians spoke idly of the call, of Garak, of the progression on Cardassia Prime, which was all prompted by Julian. The rebuilding was going well enough. Though resources and medical help was still an issue, many matters were being handled in an organized manner. Garak was helping with that, though he didn’t hold the highest position in the haphazard government they pieced together. Though that would likely change, given the amount of work Garak had done for his people over the past year or so. They may have gone into more details if Garak himself hadn’t arrived. But the interruption was fine. Likely, Julian would get those details later, after the “it’s been so long” smiles had faded and normalcy began to settle in.

An exchange between the three Cardassians was had, Garak gave verification, and greeted Julian with a polite nod. Julian nodded in return. Then they said goodbye and headed through the central building, towards the heart of the rebuilding city.

“I must say, Doctor,” Garak said, “When I said you were always welcome, I did not expect you to visit so soon. And with so many of your things.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, Garak, I don’t plan on leaving.”

Garak stopped. Julian paused with him. They stood nearly in the arch of the open door heading out towards the dirt streets which made up the city. The sun streaked in. The grayed scales on Garak’s stunned face looked natural, welcome against the arid atmosphere, even as the Cardassian’s expression transitioned into one of confusion.

“But your post–”

“Will be given to another qualified doctor.”

“And your research–”

“Can be done by someone else.”

Garak closed his mouth. Julian watched him and waited for words, but none came. So, Julian filled the silence instead.

“I could say that I’m here to help your people, but I think we both know that’s not quite true. We danced around our interest for each other by talking about other things, maybe because of your past, maybe because of my job, maybe because of, well, a lot of things. But I’m here now. And I’m staying. You can act on that however you want but I won’t be going anywhere regardless of what you decide.”

It took a second, and then another, before a small smile crept back onto Garak’s face.

“There is some room in my house, though I’m afraid there’s only one bed.”

“I think we can make it work,” Julian said as his own smile grew.


	82. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Benjamin Sisko, Jadzia Dax (mentioned), three original characters
> 
> Warnings for death mention, genetic engineering on children, blood, physical violence, stabbing, and phaser shooting.
> 
> Prompt: _Julian, Children's Footprints_. -- for a Tumblr prompt meme. [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/161646350878/julien-23-this-is-my-first-time-sending-you-an)]

Julian heard rumors first. They were whispered by members of Starfleet that lingered around the promenade during their off hours. He only caught fragments on conversations before the vocal parties would hush at his arrival.

Children, engineering, death. Those were the key words that stood out in the near muted tones.

Over lunch, Julian let the words mull over in his mind. He conjured up stories of engineered children murdered by doctors who thought they knew better, parents who saw Julian as a reason to alter their children into something beyond human, journalists who thought to attack his accomplishments because of what he was revealed to be. In the end, they all seemed plausible, yet were too distant to fully grasp. His thoughts weren’t reality. He needed to know the truth. As he took his dishes to the replicator and sent them away, he resolved himself to ask Jadzia about the matter once his work day was over.

He didn’t have to wait to ask her.

On his way back to the infirmary, Captain Sisko’s voice rose from his combadge. Whatever questions remained were muted by the deep, calm voice of his commanding officer.

“Sisko to Doctor Bashir.”

“Go ahead,” Julian answered.

“I need you to see me in my office.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Julian altered his route from the infirmary to the turbolift. He entered, asked to go to ops, and was brought there in a few seconds. Familiar, friendly faces surrounded him. Glances lingered on him a few seconds longer than normal. Even Jadzia’s eyes didn’t waver. She at least offered a smile. It was one Julian gladly returned before he crossed ops and entered Sisko’s office.

The office, though Cardassian built, had Sisko’s loving touches. Pictures, plants, and chairs from Earth sat strategically around the room. The baseball that normally sat on the man’s desk, however, was in his hands. The ball was rotated in the man’s left hand. The red bindings rolled slowly across his right finger tips. He’d been looking out the window when Julian approached. But the sound of the door and of Julian’s arrival made his captain look towards him. The warm smile that Jadzia greeted him with was absent from Sisko’s face. The door closed behind him. Sisko sat up and placed the baseball back on it’s spot on the desk.

“I received a call from Starfleet this morning,” Sisko started, “There was a hospital nearby that was genetically engineering children. There was an incident. All of the hospital personnel are dead. Only three patients survived. They’re all children. None of them are talking. These kids are the only ones that could know what happened in that hospital. Starfleet would like to bring the children here and have you talk with them. They want to see if the children will confide in you.”

Well, that explained the rumors. Julian looked out the window for a moment and considered his options. He could say no. It wasn’t his position to speak with the genetically engineered, after all. There were trained medical staff members that worked with them. But he’d done so well with Jack, Patrick, Lauren, and Sarina. And, on paper, he was much better with children than he was adults. He was likely Starfleet’s first choice to work with these kids. He should say yes. But he was hesitant.

Something about it didn’t sit well with him. It went beyond the idea of caring for three children traumatized into silence. He knew the personnel on the station could handle trouble if it followed. If something, or someone, outside the hospital staff was responsible for the deaths and they followed the children, they could be dealt with. But the idea wasn’t comforting.

Still, these were children that needed help. And Julian had helped people in life-threatening situations before. Even with the discomfort balling up in his stomach, he knew he had to agree. So, he did.

Captain Sisko handed Julian the medical files for the children and told him that he’d be notified when the children arrived on the station. Whatever resources Julian needed would be provided without question. Within reason, Julian knew, but Captain Sisko didn’t need to say that. He took his files, told Captain Sisko that he’d keep him informed on the situation, and left the office. Only Jadzia looked at him when he left. She smiled again. This time, Julian couldn’t manage a smile back.

 

* * *

 

 

Aziz El Yasin Alfarsi, Camilla Renee Collingwood, and Tyson Lee Foster.

Each file, though structured the same, showed three separate children, each unique and lovable in their own quirky ways.

Aziz was the latest to arrive at the hospital. His parents admitted Aziz so alterations to his whole person could be made. He was only five, but the doctors wrote down that Aziz “was exhibiting social behaviors that are drastically different from the norm”. The details were left out. But later pages in the file indicated that Aziz’s behavior, as well as his physical abilities, were improving. He was a chatty, youthful boy with bountiful energy, it seemed. He ran around and talked with all the nurses and doctors as much as possible. His curiosity seemed to charge every interaction. Changes to his intelligence hadn’t started yet, but the doctor indicated that such changes were likely not necessary. “Aziz already exceeds intellectual norms for a child his age.” Whether or not Aziz’s parents agreed with that sentiment was unknown. An appointment was made with them to discuss the matter, but the doctors wouldn’t make it. The meeting was three days away.

Camilla had been there the longest. She was thrust into the hospital by her father, who’s increasing desperation was clear in the first interview. The interview and the subsequent first examination took up the largest part of the file. Camilla was born perfectly normal, but an accident left her nearly brain dead and unable to move at the age of three. Her father had gone through multiple medical resources trying to find a way to save her, but there was no luck. She was admitted seven months after the accident. Doctors weren’t sure they could save her. Most portions of her brain showed no activity at all. The brain scans from the first examination looked horrible. Julian wasn’t sure he would ever try to save her. But they did. And after four years of effort, she made amazing turns. They used genetic engineering to speed up the healing process in her body, hoping it would fix the problems in her brain. The last two years showed the most improvement. By the age of seven, she could walk, speak, and properly engage with people around her. She stayed an extra year to ensure the healing process was work. In that time, she took up music and dance. She enjoyed putting on performances for the staff and other children in the hospital. She was due for release in three weeks.

Tyson, who went by Ty, was admitted for intellectual and physical changes only. According to the doctor, there was nothing wrong with Ty’s intelligence or physicality. “He tested close to age norm,” he said of the young seven year old. But to his parents, specifically his mother, the norm wasn’t good enough. Changes to the boy’s intellect and physical abilities turned into personality problems. When those started to arise, the mother demanded her little boy’s charming personality back. But Julian knew exactly where the boy was headed. Or, at least, he had been sure. The know-it-all personality that Ty developed suddenly changed in the last week. He went from loud and obnoxious to completely silent. He was still eating, drinking, and interacting with staff, but his silent demeanor was concerning. He was scheduled for another genetic mutation later that day. It was never completed.

Julian read over the files three or four times to get an idea of the children. He tried to formulate a plan of getting through to them. He could use science, music, trivia. He prepared a notebook, some toys, and the large room that Jack, Patrick, Lauren, and Sarina had stayed in before. It was a temporary playroom, he decided.

When they arrived, though, Julian knew his plans weren’t going to work. Despite their outward differences and personality cues from the file, all of the children acted exactly the same. None of them made eye contact, none of them engaged with adults, none of them showed any outward sign of emotion or understanding. They followed, they sat, and they existed.

Julian brought them to the make-shift playroom and told them they could do anything they wanted. For a while, they all stood silent, eyes pointing at the floor. Then, one by one, they sat on differing beds in silence. Julian watched them for a moment. Then he went to each one and tried to get them to respond. He coaxed them with things they might like, intellectual toys, music, anything, but none of them responded. Not one word.

Julian grabbed his writing PADD and started a file of his own. He wrote down their symptoms and behaviors. He opted for some medical tests that he would start in the morning if he wasn’t able to coax them out of their near catatonic behavior. For the rest of the day, he would just try.

After writing down everything, he started to play some music. Bajoran instrumental. He didn’t say the composer or instruments. He wanted one of them to ask, or for Camilla to dance, or for them to react at all. Nothing. Not even the slightest change. He kept the music playing anyway. He crossed to the center of the room, sat at the large table he’d set up, and started working on a medical report. He thought maybe if he ignored them and didn’t try, the children would naturally come to him. After two hours of this, there was nothing from them.

Julian called for food for them and himself. A security officer brought it by, along with a fork for each person. He thanked the man for the food, watched him leave, and then shut the door. He turned. He placed his portion of the food on the table, then went to each child and, one by one, placed the food next to them on their beds. He started with Ty, moved to Camilla, and then ended with Aziz. As he placed the plate down next to Aziz, the boy made a sound. It was small, from his throat somewhere, but was immediately stopped by force of will. Julian watched the boy for a second before he knelt down in front of him and tried to make eye contact.

“Hey,” Julian said. He offered a smile. Aziz’s eyes didn’t connect. “I know you’ve probably been through a lot. I’m here to help if you’ll let me.” Aziz didn’t move. He didn’t respond. Julian waited a moment. Then another. Then a tear fell from one of the boy’s eyes and down his tan cheek. Julian reached out and brushed it away. Aziz was trembling. It wasn’t from his touch. Still, Julian pulled his hand back. The boy lowered his head.

“H... he...”

Aziz’s voice was soft, shaking. Then, suddenly, it stopped. The trembling stopped. Julian blinked. He tilted his head down and tried to spy the boy’s gaze. His eyes were glossed over. His jaw was shut tight. The tears were gone. Julian swallowed.

This wasn’t normal. Nothing like this happened with Aziz before, according to his doctors. It could be shock and grief, sure, but it seemed out of place. This placid expression and forced silence was nothing like the vibrant, vocal boy the doctor depicted on page. There was something more going on. Something medical. Julian pressed on his combadge.

“Doctor Bashir to the infirmary.”

“Yes, Doctor?”

The familiar voice of Nurse Kabo chimed through his badge.

“I’m going to be bringing Aziz, Camilla, and Tyson by the infirmary. I’d like to run a few tests on them. Could you clear the back sleeping area? I’d like them to stay in the infirmary tonight.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

The communications were ended. Julian gave Aziz a smile, which he was sure the boy didn’t see, before he stood and headed to the door.

“Let’s go,” he said.

None of them followed. They didn’t even make a motion to. Julian frowned.  
“The tests won’t hurt. I just want to run a few brain scans, that’s all.”

No changes. Julian sighed. Aziz was small enough to carry, but the other two were a little larger. Carrying them all at the same time wasn’t an option either. He could call Constable Odo and have him help. Odo could probably change into something that could carry three children. But using a changeling here might not be a good idea. They were having problems with something. Adding a changeling into the mix might not end well. He’d have to try something else. Maybe if he could convince one of them to go, the others would follow.

Julian walked back to Aziz and knelt down again. He tried to get a read off the boy’s face, but a blank stare was all he got back.

“Aziz.” Julian used a gentle voice. The boy didn’t respond. “Just one scan is all I need. I know I said tests, but we only have to do one scan today. I’m worried about all of you. Your reactions aren’t normal. I just want to make sure you’re--”

Footsteps. Running. For him. From his right. Julian turned. Tyson, with his head down, slammed into Julian and knocked him over. The force nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. Before he could retaliate, Tyson was on top of him and pushing him down to the floor with a force no normal child could muster up. Julian tried to push him off, but his own physical abilities were limited. But one of the boy’s arms lifted up anyway. Julian’s eyes caught a glint in the boy’s fingers. He looked closer. It was a fork. Tyson shoved it down. Julian put his left hand in the way. The fork prongs went through the webbing between his thumb and index finger. He screamed.

Tyson stopped.

Julian pushed him aside, stood, and cupped his injured hand with his free one. He watched his blood drip across his tan palm for a moment before he looked back at the child. Tyson wasn’t moving. No, he was. Just barely. Because he was trembling. So was Aziz. Julian could see the slight bobbing of the younger boy’s black, curly hair. Julian looked to Camilla. She was still sitting on the bed, unmoved. Julian pressed his combadge with his uninjured hand.

“Doctor Bashir to the infirmary.”

“Yes, Doctor?” Nurse Kabo again.

“I need a dermal regenerator and a tricorder stat. Have another nurse bring up any portable equipment. I’m going to have to do the exams here.”

Before she could respond, Julian pressed his combadge twice.

“Doctor Bashir to security.”

“Go ahead, Doctor.” Odo. He thought about asking for a human security officer. Then Tyson turned towards him and Julian abandoned the precaution.

“I need you and maybe another security officer to come to the room I’ve set up for the children in the habitat ring. One of them attacked me. I need someone to keep an eye on them while I--”

Tyson charged him again. Julian braced himself. It wasn’t enough. His legs were knocked out from underneath him. He plummeted to the ground. He instinctively braced the fall with his arms. The fork jarred on impact with the ground. He yelped. Odo called for him from the combadge. Julian turned onto his back and saw Tyson lunging for him again. There was no weapon in his hand this time. Julian rolled onto his side and dodged the lunge. He moved to scramble to his feet. He could pin himself against the wall and avoid another fall. He could wait for security to arrive. They’d be here in little time at all with this scuffle going on. He could--

His thoughts were cut off by something hitting the back of his head. It was hard, heavy. His face smashed against the flooring. The world blackened. The music faded. It came back to a different measure, the same beat. It was only a few seconds ahead. But he’d still been out for a few seconds too long.

For too slowly, Julian lifted his head and opened his eyes. His brain throbbed. He ignored it as he scanned the room. The children were gone. Blood stained the ground. Footprints tracked from his body to the outside of the room. The door was shut.

Despite the pounding of his head, Julian stood. Nausea took over him for a second. He swallowed it down, wavered, then walked to the door. It opened for him. The footprints that led away from his body continued down the hall from the habitat ring. Though there was only one set of footprints there, Julian was sure the three kids were together. He slowly, then with increasing speed, followed the steps down the hall, around the corner, and then they disappeared.

He stood at the last step for a moment, stunned. Then his eye caught a droplet of blood, then another, which followed the trajectory of the footsteps. He took a step forward, then stopped. He couldn’t just continue the pursuit without a weapon. Even if they were just children, Tyson was strong. A phaser at its lowest setting would stun then. Maybe even knock them unconscious. Julian had to risk it. He had to run those tests. He had to make sure the children would be okay.

He walked back to a weapons locker, opened it with his passcode, and then took out a phaser. Then he closed it, checked the phaser power setting, and then started the pursuit again. His steps were as soft as he could make them. But over the pounding of his head, he wasn’t sure if he was making a sound or not.

Then he heard a sound. A whimper. It came from behind a set of closed quarters. Julian couldn’t remember if anyone lived in them or not. He approached. The door didn’t open for him. Julian pressed on his combadge.

“Computer, open the door to Chamber 984, Habitat Level H-3. Emergency medical override, Bashir 1-Alpha.”

The computer chimed. The door slid open. Julian stepped through immediately and prepared himself for the next assault. It didn’t come. But the children were there. There was no unity between them now. Aziz was in the far corner of the room. Small whimpers escaped his lips. Words were mixed with them, but Julian couldn’t make them out. Tyson was closed to the door, but his back was to him. Then Camilla was in the middle. She stood poised, near proper. Her eyes were focused solely on Tyson. They seemed to bore into him. She wasn’t in the right position to protect Aziz. It didn’t seem like she was trying to either. Not when both the boys were trembling as much as they were.

“Camilla--” He started.

Shut up.

The female voice was so clear in his head. His jaw clamped shut. Green eyes were on him now. Their hold pierced through the throbbing pain and it something deep in his psyche. Stay still. He did. Obey. He did. And then her eyes returned to Tyson. The voice stopped. His thoughts didn’t.

Camilla wasn’t just genetically engineered. Something happened. Something beyond what the file said. The doctors weren’t aware of the changes or she made them not write a word of it down. Did she kill them? Was she capable of that? Was she even capable of making Tyson attack him or was that something the boy did on his own? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was his freedom and their safety.  
He tried to shake the silent hold that grabbed onto his psyche. His hands began to tremble. Now he knew. Tyson’s attack wasn’t intentional on his behalf. He was fighting against her, just as Aziz had.

Julian closed his eyes and fought harder. His hands twitched. His right hand closed and opened. The freeze turned to sluggishness and then let go entirely. By then, he could hear footsteps and voices. Security. The nurses, maybe. She would give him orders then. He may not have been strong enough or prepared enough to fight her intrusion, but he wasn’t going to give in. He couldn’t.

Without another pause, Julian raised the phaser and fired. The shot his Camilla in the chest. She fell. He could tell she was still alive, but unconscious. Tyson collapsed with her. His fall stopped at his knees though. Aziz began to wail.

Julian checked on Tyson first. It was the first time the boy’s dark brown eyes caught his stare. He was there, present. Tears welled up without a sound.

“Are you alright?” Julian asked. The boy nodded. Julian nodded in return and then moved slowly to Camilla. She was unconscious. She would stay that way for a little while, even with a genetically enhanced body. Long enough for the nursing staff to come in and subdue her. He’d call them in a moment to reroute them. If he was lucky, they’d come on their own.

Finally, Julian moved to Aziz. He looked over the wailing boy’s body. There was a cut on the boy’s left hand. Droplets of blood fell onto the carpet in the same size droplets that touched the flooring in the hall. Julian moved his phaser to his injured hand and rubbed the boy’s back with his now open one.

“You did well,” Julian whispered. “Everything will be fine now.”

Aziz continued to cry.

 

* * *

 

 

“I believe that Camilla’s genetic engineering caused a psychological mutation which allows her to control others with thought alone.”

Julian explained his findings to Captain Sisko seven hours after he’d shot Camilla. By then, his hand and concussion were treated. Though the nursing staff insisted that he take a break and relax, Julian wanted to run the tests himself. He wanted answers. And it was answers he got.

“Aziz and Tyson both said that Camilla controlled them. She hid while they carried out the murders,” Julian said.

“Constable Odo said the same thing. Did they give you a motive for her attack?”

“No.”

“Did she tell you anything? Or give you any feelings when she controlled you?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Captain Sisko sighed and looked at his desk. Julian watched as Sisko’s eyes fall onto the picture on his desk. To Jake’s image.

“I’ve requested that Aziz and Tyson be transferred to the same place as Jack, Patrick, Sarina, and Lauren,” Julian said, “They should be able to get the help they need there. There’s an intense therapy center on Earth for violent people that need more supervision. That’s where I suggested Camilla go. I’m not sure it’ll help, but it’s less likely she’ll be able to hurt someone there. It’s the best I can do for her.”

Captain Sisko didn’t respond. Julian lowered his gaze. Silence.  
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Sisko whispered. Julian lifted his gaze. His captain was looking at him again. “It’s something my father used to say.”

Julian nodded once and then let his gaze drop again.

“Why don’t you take the day off tomorrow once the children are off the station,” Sisko said, “I’m sure you could use it.”

Part of him wanted to decline. But Julian knew he needed the break. He needed the time alone. So, he nodded and looked at Captain Sisko again.

“Thank you, sir,” he said. Then Julian turned and walked out of Sisko’s office. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone in ops as he walked to the turbolift. He knew Jadzia was watching him. “Promenade,” was all he said. Then all the friendly faces were out of view.


	83. Engineered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Data, Miles O'Brien
> 
> Prompt: I was really disappointed that after Data met Bashir, the writers never mentioned it again. They obviously got along, so I was wondering if I could request something more with them interacting more! [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/161667082448/i-was-wondering-if-i-could-request-a-fic-if-you)]
> 
> Quick Headcanon Explanation: After they met, Julian and Data kept in touch through video messages and the occasional live conversation, when they have time.
> 
> Timeline: Data has an emotion chip. Julian’s genetic engineering was just revealed.

Julian had six unseen messaged. They were all from Data.

He slumped onto the couch in his quarters and sighed. Eventually he would have to watch the videos and respond to Data’s questions or emotions. Eventually he would have to confront the lies and betrayal he was likely to be accused of. Eventually. But it could wait another day. The first message had already waited for twenty-eight days. What could one more day add that the first twenty-eight hadn’t? Julian leaned forward and buried his face in his open hands. His elbows fell to his knees.

What would he spend his night doing then? He could read. He and Garak were due for a lunch get together in two days. Powering through the chosen Cardassian text wouldn’t be hard. And it would give him something to focus on so he could pretend that everything was fine and dandy. Or he could go to Quark’s. He did have several holosuite programs that he hadn’t used in a while. That would be a good distraction too. Or--

“O’Brien to Doctor Bashir.”

Julian’s face lifted from his hands. He blinked at the wall. Miles. What did he want? It was so rare for Miles to reach out to him. Usually it was the other way around. Or if Miles really needed time with him, Keiko would reach out to him if she was on the station.

“Go ahead.”

“Are you doing anything right now?”

Julian hesitated.

“No?”

“Do you mind if a friend of mine comes by your quarters then? He wanted to talk to you.”

Julian’s back straightened up. A friend? What friend? If it was someone that meant to do him harm, Miles wouldn’t ask. He’d probably call security. But Julian couldn’t fathom who would go to Miles as a work around for him. No one on the station would do that. Would they? Clearly they had.

“I guess that’s fine,” was all Julian could think to respond with.

“Good. He'll there in a few minutes.”

Miles ended the call. Julian stared at the wall for a second longer. Then he stood and walked to the replicator. He subconsciously put in the code for extra sweet Tarkalean tea as his mind wandered through who possibly could have gone to Miles about him. The tea appeared. He picked it up and sipped at it as his mind rotated through the medical records of everyone on the station. He knew all the personnel. He’d done physicals for all of them. They all knew they could approach him with anything.

His door chime went off as his mind ran through the medical files a second time. “Come in,” he said. The door opened. A man walked through the door. It shut behind him. He wasn’t anyone in the medical files on the station. That’s because he’d never examined the person before in his life.

It was Data.

Julian nearly spilled his tea on the carpet.

“Commander!”

Julian fumbled to place the tea down on the table under the android’s gaze. He cleared his throat and ran his hands over the front of his uniform.

“What are you doing here?” Julian asked. The words poured out as fast as his blood cycled through his scampering heart.

“You had not responded to my communications. I believed that seeing you in person was necessary.”

“I-I’m sorry, I know I should have said something, I just... I...” Julian’s scrambled for the right words. His stomach constricted. His eyes fell to his tea. “I’m sorry.”

The words came out hushed, but he knew Data heard them. Silence. Julian’s eyes flicked from the table to the chairs to the floor, staring but not really seeing.

“May I ask you a question?” Data asked.

Oh no. His eyes flicked up to Data’s face. Data stared back with a neutral expression.

“Of course.” Julian’s words sounded choked to his own ears. He looked down at the table again and prepared for the worst.

“What emotion are you experiencing right now?”

Julian lifted his gaze again. His brow furrowed. He blinked. Then his eyes flicked away and he started to cycle through emotional terms. He abandoned some, picked up others, tossed them aside too, and sifted through the remaining options.

“Anxiety,” slipped from Julian’s lips. Fear almost touched them as well, but he buried it before it could emerge.

“Why?”

What could he say? That he was afraid of how Data would respond? That wasn’t exactly fair. But it was the truth, wasn’t it? They weren’t close. At least, Julian hadn’t assumed so. But he respected Data as much as he respected Captain Sisko. If Data was angry with him, if he even looked down on him, Julian knew that he’d be crushed. That’s why he’d tried so hard to maintain communications before. That’s why he read the poems that Data mentioned. That’s why he took the time to read over the research and materials that Data produced. But with his own genetic engineering and the near month of silence, Julian thought, no, was sure, that Data lost any respect he had for him, if there was any to be had at all.

Julian swallowed. A shallow breath escaped his lips.

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

Silence again. Julian wanted to see what Data’s face would give in terms of emotion, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bare it if a glare was what he was met with. He opted for the uncertainty, for the quiet, for the momentary panic brought by the unknown. Then, Data spoke and broke all of that down in five words.

“I do not hate you.”

Julian looked up. Data’s expression had changed. It was subtle. But Julian could make out the lines of concern that creased his brow line and dipped the corners of his mouth a fraction of an inch.

“If I may ask another question, why would you be anxious that I may hate you? Have I acted in some way that made you believe that I disliked you?” Data asked.

“No, no, I, it’s not...” Julian looked at his tea again. “It’s not anything you’ve done. I just thought that you’d... genetic engineering is illegal. I lied to Starfleet so I could join. I thought maybe you might hate me or lose respect for me because of it. I didn’t want to face that possibility so I never checked the messages you sent me. I’m sorry.”

There was silence again. Julian wanted to say something to fill it, but he couldn’t find the right words and he didn’t want to destroy the silence with panicked, disjointed sentences that showed nothing but the inner disdain for himself.

“You do not need to apologize, Doctor. I have experienced fear. I understand how it can affect how people respond to others. You do not need to be concerned about my feelings towards you. You have not lost my respect. We are friends. I accept you for who you are.”

Julian blinked.

“We... we’re friends?”

Data nodded. “Do you not feel that we are friends?”

“No, I do!” Julian said. He almost yelled. He took in a deep breath and calmed himself. “I do, I just didn’t think you thought the same way.”

“I have considered you a friend for many years.”

Relief flooded into Julian. Data didn’t hate him. They were friends. There was no lost respect. There was no hurt feelings. There was only concern. Julian nearly cried. Instead, he took another deep breath and smiled.

“I’ve considered you a friend for years too,” Julian said, “I know you said I didn’t have to apologize, but I’m still sorry. I should have at least given you a chance to explain how you felt instead of assuming.”

“It is quite alright, Doctor. You are forgiven.”

Julian sighed, nodded, and looked at his tea. Then he looked at Data.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“If you do not mind.”

Julian smiled. He motioned for Data to sit down as he turned to the replicator. He heard Data pull out a chair.


	84. Creature Feature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Jadzia Dax, Benjamin Sisko
> 
> Warnings: Physical Harm, Violence
> 
> Prompt: Based on a short story I wrote in college that remained unpublished. [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/162957112303/i-found-an-old-short-story-i-wrote-when-i-was-in)]

Julian always dreamed of being a hero.

His childhood daydreams were filled with images of knighthood. He wore polished, silver armor and rode through the expansive forest on his tamed bear, Kukalaka, in order to save his brunette princess trapped in a far-off tower. He always made it, always slayed the fire-breathing dragon that dared to keep her captive, and whisked her away to the kingdom to live happily once more.

As he aged, the tales changed. In his teen years, he became a charming monster hunter. He’d slay gruesome beasts that tried to kill his female cohorts. Then he helped treat their wounds with his gentle, magic-given healing abilities that would garner their affection every time.

When he moved to college, he switched to Bond-like espionage thrillers. He became Agent Bashir, who swooned the ladies and won them over with his suave demeanor and charming smile. A great kiss never hurt either. These daydreams were saved for the nights his roommate, a strong jock with an abrasive personality, was absent from their dorm room. This night, Friday, was the perfect time.

It was 1:20 AM. The full moon gleamed through the open dorm window. The light breeze of the unfamiliar California city wafted in. Julian paced his room in small, near calculated motions as he ducked behind his office chair. It wheeled back an inch. He inched back with it, his mind refusing to let go of the scenario playing in his head. He glanced under his desk. He imaged it as a scientist’s counter. Bullets ricocheted off the metal plating. A woman crouched behind it, fear clear in her blue, wide eyes.

“Don’t move,” Julian mouthed. It didn’t come out as a whisper outside of his fantasy, but in it, the muted words were there, a soother for the wide-eyed wonder. She nodded.

Julian’s eyes moved above the desk. His desktop was there. It sat downloading an update, or an important file to take to headquarters, as his mind insisted. He edged closer and then shifted his weight to his right knee. He paused. Waited. The imaginary gunfire died away. This was his chance. He shifted up, pointed his invisible gun forward with both hands and–

A growl echoed from the hallway. It was a deep, low one that jarred all the fantastical images from his head. He looked to his closed dormitory door. His hands fell to his desk. His roommate? A friend of his roommate’s? Either way, Julian couldn’t ignore them. Not when the lights were on and they were aware he never left his dorm for any reason at those early morning hours.

Julian pushed himself to his feet, careful not to hit his head, and headed for the door.

Before he could make it, something bashed against it.  _Boom_. A crater was indented into the metal door. It was the size of a fist. Julian backpedaled. He ran into his office chair and nearly fell into the seat. He looked down habitually in order to regain his footing.  _Boom_. Julian looked up. Another crater. It was next to the first. Same size. Julian looked to the window. Three stories. He’d likely die, or at least be too hurt to walk. What then? He didn’t know who the person was on the other side of the door, or what they wanted from him. If he wanted out, safely out, getting past them and into the hallway was the safest bet.  _Boom_. A screw shot to the window and tinkered against the wooden siding. Julian reached for his tennis racket.

_Boom_.

The door smashed against the floor. A large, hairy fist extended into the room. The deep growl followed. Then the body edged in. Brown fur covered the naked biped from head to toe. It towered far over seven feet with it’s pointed ears nearly skimming the white ceiling. Green eyes looked ahead, out the window and into the San Francisco night. Julian’s breath caught in his throat. He inched back. The tennis racket bumper guard smacked against the wall. He froze. Green eyes jerked towards him. A snarl erupted from the beast’s mouth. It moved closer.

Julian got into a stance and prepared to use his racket as a sword. His heels hit the wall. He tightened his grip on the handle. The beast leaned and got to his haunches. Julian stilled. The best lunged, front claws out, a muted roar ripping deep from his throat. Julian careened to the his right. A loud thud missed him by a fraction. He stumbled, but maintained his footing. Then he bolted to the open door.

The hall was lit with fluorescent yellows that guided him towards the stairs. Julian charged through the signals, opened the metal exit door, and sped through the staircase. He heard the bash of the door above him, the metal hinges giving way, the clatter of the heavy door slash against the concrete steps. Julian reached the bottom, opened the exit door, and ran into the well lit night.

No one was out. The lonely night was an echo chamber for his fear. Dread moved his steps. He ran down the sidewalk, past another dorm building. His brain rushed the choice before it thought of options. The beast would be out soon enough. He had to hide. The concrete slabs beneath his feet and the towers of dorm rooms would offer no protection. Where could he go then?

Metal smashed against the pavement. A growl rolled against the back of his neck. Julian ran faster. Steps thundered behind him. The storm grew closer. He tried to duck beneath a tree. It wasn’t enough. Heat captured his back and pushed him to the ground. Julian smashed against the grass and dirt. He turned onto his back, racket still in hand. The beast was on him. White fangs and glowing eyes were all that were visible beneath the black veil of the tree. It’s face sped towards his. Julian swiped the racket between the monster’s teeth. It stuck. Julian attempted to squirm away, but a claw held fast against his chest. Nails ripped through is shirt. He winced. The pause was long enough for the beast to close his jaw on the tennis racket and crush the netting. It was lost. He was weaponless. There was no escape.

Julian tried to pull away anyway. Nails dug further into his chest. His hands reached, grabbed, and attempted to pull the furry hand away. It held. Julian’s face only caught the movement of the creature’s face as it lunged for his neck. His brain only became aware of it when, suddenly, the weight of the creature was gone.

He scrambled to his feet and searched for the beast. Meters away, it lay face up, motionless, silent. Above it, a pillar of radiance stood in the moonlight. He recognized the silhouette immediately, but it took a moment for him to fully acknowledge who it was.

“Jadzia,” he whispered. She looked his way. Blue eyes searched him, perhaps for injuries, before she walked to him. In her right hand was a rod of some kind with a ball cupping the top.

“Julian, are you hurt?”

No. He wanted to say so. But his mind became too clouded with questions. What was that thing? Had she taken it down? If she did, how did she manage it so quickly? Did she know what it was? How? Why? His mouth opened to say something, anything, but the volume of his own thoughts muted any words that dared to escape. In his silence, Jadzia gave a warm smile.

“It’s a lot to take in,” she said, “Give me a minute to call security. Once they get here, I’ll take you to see Benjamin. He can help explain what’s going on.”

Julian nodded. Jadzia turned and stepped towards the beast again. Julian watched it and waited. Jadzia spoke.

“I found the target,” she said, “He’s unconscious outside McCoy Hall. I have a survivor. His injuries seem superficial. I’m going to take him to see Benjamin once you arrive.”

There was a gruff affirmation. Then, silence. Julian wanted to rush over and start asking questions, but the term “unconscious” rattled in his mind. He didn’t have a weapon and the rod, though helpful, didn’t seem like it’d be good enough to fend off another attack if Jadzia wasn’t paying attention. So, he stayed at the tree, out of the way, and waited. Less than a minute later, black van pulled up. Two people stepped out. They were almost monstrous themselves. One had smooth features and the other had ridged down the center of his forehead which arched up in the middle to form a profound peak. Jadzia welcomed them nicely. Then they went to the creature. Jadzia came back to Julian.

“We should go,” she said. Julian didn’t argue.

They walked through the parking lot and to a car not far from the entrance to McCoy Hall. Jadzia unlocked it. Julian slipped easily into the passenger’s seat. She slid into the driver’s seat, started the car, and headed out of the parking lot. By then, the van and the creature were gone. All that remained where the unhinged doors that were likely to be fixed soon. Julian had no doubt.

“It was brave of you to try to fight it,” Jadzia said. “When most people get trapped, they start screaming.”

“What was it?” Julian asked. His curiosity left the compliment, if Jadzia’s comment was that, abandoned. He looked over at her. A trace of a smile touched at the right corner of her mouth. “Was it a wereworlf? And who were those people that picked it up? Do you work with them? Is there a secret organization of werewolf hunters? You don’t kill them, do you? I know you said he was unconscious, if it is a he, but–”

“Why don’t we wait to get to Benjamin,” Jadzia answered.

“Who’s Benjamin?”

“The school’s dean.”

“President Sisko?” Julian couldn’t hide the surprise from his words. Jadzia nodded. “You work for him?”

“In a way.”

“In what way? Is he your boss? Does he send you to protect people like a superhero? Or is he like the Nick Fury to The Avengers?”

Jadzia’s smile only grew. Julian sighed and sulked in the passenger’s seat. He really was going to have to wait. At least she wasn’t outright rejecting his questions as she rejected his advances months ago.

They sat in silence for the remainder of the car ride. It was short, thankfully. They had driven off campus though and traveled through the cluttered apartment buildings before they arrived at a quaint house that was settled only blocks away from the campus administration building. The lights were on and illuminated brightly against the darkened backdrop of the street. Jadzia pulled into the driveway. She got out first. Julian rushed to follow.

She walked up to the front door without hesitation. Julian took the time, though brief, to scour the streets for signs that they’d been followed. There wasn’t any. Of course. Jadzia would have known and taken another way, no doubt. He should have known better.

The door chime brought his eyes back to the house. He caught the light footsteps inside. Then the door opened. On the other side was President Benjamin Sisko. He was taller and broader than the administration picture let on. Julian swallowed and shifted his weight between his feet slowly as his hands wrung together.

“Hi Benjamin. Sorry about the late night visit.”

“You know you’re always welcome, Old Man.”

Old Man? Julian wanted to question the name more, but his mind stopped when Sisko’s gaze flicked to him. So did his movements.

“You must be the survivor.”

“I…” Julian started. Then he nodded. “Yes, I… I am.”

“Come in, please.”

Jadzia stepped in first. Julian hesitated. Then, he followed her in under Sisko’s gaze.

The living room they stepped into was small, though said much about the good President. Pictures covered the far left wall. Many were of the same people - family and friends, likely - and each one showed smiling faces. In front of him was a television surrounded by handfuls of baseball memorabilia. Julian wasn’t familiar enough with the teams to know the logos or players by name. But it was clear Sisko cared for the sport, and the items, very much. The rest of the furnishings looked worn, as if used many times since their purchase. Rings were on the coffee table, small frays were in the fabric of the couch and arm chair, the fan was clean but cocked just slightly to the right even though it wasn’t on. Immediately, Julian felt at ease.

“Can I get you two anything to drink before we talk?” Sisko asked. He cut into Julian’s line of sight.

“No thanks,” Jadzia said. Julian followed suit by shaking his head.

“Then please, sit. Tell me what happened.”

Julian sat on the couch next to Jadzia, who informed Sisko of when she’d arrived, which was only moments after Julian charged from the dorm, and how she’d used the rod - a electrical stunning weapon - to knock out the beast. After her explanation, Julian was forced to go into his own. It was rushed, near shaking, though not out of fear of retelling it. He was nervous under their stares. He felt like a school boy retelling a bullying incident to mature adults too familiar with school yard chatter to be phased by his telling. Once he got to where Jadzia entered the picture, he fell silent. He watched as Sisko and Jadzia exchanged glances. He wanted to ask questions, but Sisko’s presence cut his enthusiastic curiosity short.

“What’s your name?” Sisko asked. His gaze returned to Julian. Julian looked to Jadzia for a second, who rose from the couch and entered the kitchen.

“J-Julian. Julian Bashir.”

“Where are you from, Mister Bashir?”

“London.”

“What are you studying?”

“Medicine.” Julian paused and shifted under the older man’s gaze. “I’d like to be a doctor.”

“Why come here? Why not study medicine in England?”

“I got scholarship here for tennis and academics. It paid for all my expenses. I always wanted to visit America, so I thought coming here was a good choice.”

“I imagine this instance has made your regret your choice,” Sisko said. Julian shook his head.

“I would never have learned about creatures like that in England.” Julian watched a small smile touch the corner of Sisko’s mouth. “Would I?”

“I don’t know,” Sisko said, “But there are non-human beings in other places in the world. If you hadn’t seen a werewolf, it’s possible that you would have run into something else.”

“So it was a werewolf?” Julian couldn’t hide his enthusiasm. Sisko’s smile grew a little.

“There’s a lot I can’t tell you right now, Mister Bashir. For the time being, I’d like you to stay quiet about this incident and pretend that it didn’t happen. I’ll reach out to you at a later date to discuss options.”

“Options?” Julian’s enthusiasm turned into nervous energy that balled into his stomach.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Mister Bashir. Your life and academic career aren’t in any danger. No matter what happens, you will be allowed to continue your studies and graduate from the university with your degree of choice. I know you have a lot of questions, but please refrain from asking them or attempting to answer them yourself. I’ll reach out to you when I can to discuss this matter with you as soon as I can.”

Julian nodded. His eyes fell to the carpet. Questions circulated his mind again, but he kept this quiet. He needed to prove he could be trusted. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt his silence was important for some reason. A test, maybe.

Jadzia walked back into the room. Benjamin bid them farewell and showed them out. She drove him back to the dorm. The metal door once smashed on the pavement was now replaced with one that looked almost identical. Jadzia walked him to the door and let him in with a swipe of a school ID. He wasn’t sure if it was hers. He was sure she didn’t live in the dorm. He thanked her and retreated to his dorm. His door was reattached. When he opened it, his roommate was inside. He could hear the man snoring. He walked to his desk and found his download had finished. With it, settled in the corner, was a new tennis racket.


	85. Love Hues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Blatant Garashir. Soulmate AU.
> 
> Prompt: A soul mate AU where Cardassians get marks but humans don’t, so Garak knows Julian is his soul mate but never tells him. [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/162977784503/pleeeease-write-that-soulmate-au)]

When Garak first touched Julian in the replimat, he’d been clothed. His fingers graced over the cloth of that wretched Starfleet uniform. That’s why the hues hadn’t shown up then. Had they, Garak would have stopped his rather forward advances and the good doctor’s affections would have waned. It would have been a blessing. But now, it was far too late.

It had only been a year. The doctor’s touch had been intentional, but not affectionate. Medicinal. He was checking something and those fingers, warm and dastardly, brushed his scales and brought forth a heat that spread flaming ripples over his heart. He’d ignored it then. His battle against the wire and his rather poor choices was far more important that the searing colors that he feared might have presented themselves over his too apparent Cardassian heart. Once he was able to leave the infirmary and return to his quarters, he examined the damages.

Across his upper chest was an explosion of color. The center, where is sternum resided, was a sole patch of indigo. The outstretching colors were ranges of blue and greens, including that blasted Starfleet teal that the doctor had no choice in wearing. Then they faded into the normal Cardassian tone that Garak toted since his birth. Garak ran his fingers over the changed scales and frowned.

The soulmate colorization had been left to myth centuries ago. There were whispers, of course - there were apt to be some whenever myths were crafted - but parents were quick to tell the youngest in their society that the colors were lies and soulmates weren’t something that existed. Stories of another time. Yet, this spread of cool hues smashed those lies apart.

He chose not to dwell on it.

Over the years, far too many of them too be frank, Garak did his best to hide the colors from any eyes that might befall them. He also attempted to distance himself from the good doctor. But Doctor Bashir believed, rather falsely, that the distance was because Garak was unable to adapt to life without the wire and Julian pushed his presence into Garak’s life. He couldn’t fault the doctor for doing so. He had thought to make a deal of it, to go on another emotionally driven tirade targeted towards the Federation innocence, but Julian was too determined and too stubborn to stay away under such anger. So, Garak allowed his company and, eventually, returned to the closeness they’d maintained.

It wasn’t until the Dominion War that matters changed.

By then, the spreading hues had become normal. In the privacy of his quarters, Garak skittered his fingers across them and admired the gradual splashes of hues. It was a painting now. A canvas of love that was is own. But at the beginning of the war, when the station was lost and the were forced into the tiny corners of the Defiant, Garak was not provided with the privacy necessary to admire the fated work. He went to ignoring it.

One afternoon - a rather quiet one despite the growing volatile climate in the quadrant - Garak woke in his quarters alone. Normally they were shared with Odo, but the changeling was absent for rounds, no doubt. Garak felt he had woken a little late. A blessing, perhaps. Garak changed from his pajamas to a black daytime clothes. As he stripped himself of his shirt, the door chime went off. Garak turned his back to the door and grabbed his daytime shirt.

“Come in.”

The door opened.

“So you are awake.” Julian’s voice was always welcome then. Garak offered a neutral smile, not that the good doctor could see it.

“Quite. I suppose you’re here to ask me to breakfast.”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I suppose we are overdue for a heated debate on literature.”

“Garak, what is that?”

Garak blinked and glanced up. At first, he’d been looking for the source of Julian’s rather abrupt quandary. Instead, he found a metallic reflection showing the good doctor’s chest. From the doctor’s position, he was likely to see Garak’s own, and the hues that were painted across it. Horrors confirmed when Julian walked over with the medical tricorder and began examining the colors.

“It’s a birthmark, doctor. I thought you had already seen it.”

“When would I have possibly seen this?” Julian almost sounded irritated at the accusation. Garak offered one of his polite, perhaps too polite, smiles.

“Years ago, when I had the displeasure of staying in the infirmary for almost two weeks. My clothes were changed while I was unconscious. Was that not your doing?”

“No, two of the nurses did it.”

The tricorder fell away. Julian’s eyes did not. Fingers reached for it. Garak almost flinched. Instead, he allowed the doctor’s heated touch to grace over the colors. His heart beneath pattered against the hues in a love induced rhythm.

“It’s beautiful.”

“There are many on Cardassia who would disagree. Such a mark taints the skin. I would appreciate it if the matter stayed between us, doctor.”

Julian’s fingers fell away then and he stepped back.

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

Garak pulled on his shirt. The colors were hidden away again, but never completely. Not anymore. Luckily, the matter was something that never graced their mouths again. Garak had intended it to stay that way.

After the war, after the fall of Cardassia, after his return, after the letter to Julian, and after the rebuild, Garak found himself alone in his new home. It was small, but something he’d grown familiar with. Not fond of though. Never. Though it held the traces of Cardassia, it never felt like home. Nothing away from Julian ever did. It was nothing to do with the mark, but a side effect of unrequited love. At least that’s what he excused it with.

As he sat in on his couch - a rather plush one by Cardassian standards - he read over one of Doctor Bashir’s letters. Relationship turmoil, job doubts, future fears. The man was lonely, as Garak was, and his heart ached.

He thought to reply with generic “things will become bearable” remarks he associated with the rebuilding of Cardassia. But as he contemplated such a response, his hand brushed against the fabric spread across his chest and over the mark hidden all this time. The mark of Bashir, the mark of love. He looked out his window to the small Cardassian city, to the sand, to the sun. Years ago, he felt he had to choose between them and he left Bashir behind. Perhaps such a choice had not been necessary.

Garak look to the PADD and wrote quickly, afraid to censor what would be a confession.

_My dear doctor, I apologize for the self-indulgence on your pain. There is a matter I would like to clear up. It has been heavy enough on the conscious to reconsider my words on the matter.  
_

_Years ago, if you can recall, you had glanced upon the colors on my chest. I had told you they were from a birthmark. I deceived you. It was quite intentional on my part. I had not wanted to tell you the truth because I was not ready to face them myself.  
_

_There is a story that was spread throughout old Cardassia. A myth, you could say. It was believed that the touch of a soulmate would bring forth the colors that you’d seen. They would grace the skin above the heart and show the hues associated with their love. Many believed it to be a false idea of love based on old beliefs that should be tossed aside. I, too, had denied the stories. Then, as I struggled with that implant, you had grazed my scales with your touch and those colors blossomed. I have been unable to free you from my mind or my skin since. I never have wanted to._

_Forgive my forwardness on the matter, but allow me to provide you with a solution to your uncertainty and loneliness. Come to Cardassia. I offer you my home and any space you may require. In return, you can continue your medicinal pursuits. You will find many grateful for such care here. I realize you may have some discomfort in the realization and, perhaps, you will turn away from such a request. I understand. Your history of affections, if I may be blunt, are no reflection of myself and I am to assume such ideas of soulmates are foreign to human culture._

_No matter what you decide on the matter, I look forward to continued conversations._

_Elim Garak_

Garak sent the message before he had time to reconsider. He placed the PADD aside and walked to the window. The dry heat touched his scales. The warmth of Cardassia graced him as Bashir’s warmth had years ago. It was welcome against the sudden anxiety he’d placed upon himself. He’d discarded a falsehood. Another, perhaps. Julian had been privy to many such confessions since Garak’s return to Cardassia. Another, no matter the contents, were hardly surprising.

After a moment, Garak resolved to work and left the PADD behind. When evening came and a cooled darkness spread over the planet, he returned. Two messages were waiting for him. The first was from Julian Bashir. He opened it without consideration.

_Garak,_

_I spoke with Starfleet about the matter. They were already contemplating sending someone to Cardassia to help rebuild relations. Since we already have a connection, they think my presence on Cardassia will be more accepted. They are glad to send me there for that purpose, and any medical purposes that are necessary. They said they have sent you a message about it. You’ll have to work with them to finalize the transfer. I told them that Cardassia was in need of a good doctor and left out the soulmate mark entirely, so you can leave out any personal remarks that you want._

_We don’t really have any myths about soulmates. Not soulmate marks, at least. But between us, the only thing I regret is not telling you how I felt. I loved you. I still do. The girls I dated were to cover that up because I don’t think I was ready to face that either. I know better now. I guess we both do._

_I guess you’ll need to talk with Starfleet about this, so I’ll let you go. I look forward to seeing you again._

_Julian Bashir_

Garak went back to his inbox. The message from Starfleet was below Julian’s. Garak smiled. For the first time in years, Cardassia felt like a home.


	86. Meeting Once More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Odo, Lwaxana Troi, Lwaxana's unnamed son
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: Could there be cute (nonsexual) Odo/Lwaxana? Possibly with her baby from "The Muse"? [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/163107635723/could-there-be-cute-nonsexual-odolwaxana)]

Odo made his second round through the promenade. The familiar sounds of footsteps and chatter echoed about the metal ring and offered him a comfortable contentment that was lost to his more frayed companions. War was unpredictable. Even Odo felt lost at times as he heard the loss reports and considered his place in the quadrant, even the universe. But for the moment, the tension of war tapered away into the familiar and life, for the moment, was uniform. Just as he liked it.

He peered into the infirmary. Doctor Bashir and the familiar arrangement of nurses resided there. All of them went about their menial medical work, their jobs for the day unaffected by the war beyond the station. Their minds were another story.

Odo passed without entering and started to peer at other areas - store fronts, the replimat, the Bajoran temple, all of which reaffirmed the normality of the station. Perhaps this would be a normal day. Perhaps it would invite Quark to meddle. Perhaps it would reflect the early days, where the worst the quadrant had to offer was small crimes and no casualties. Perhaps–

“Odo!”

The familiar voice, though welcome, jarred the normalcy of the station. Odo turned. From behind him, emerging from the turbolift, was Lwaxana Troi. Her hair had changed from the brunette he’d last seen to a blueish-black, but still held the curls he’d remembered. The purple dress she wore showed that she’d slimmed since their last meeting. That was due to the bundle tucked in her arms - the boy she’d carried in her stomach years prior. His eyes looked at anything but Odo and it’s hands clung to the front of Lwaxana’s dress. Despite the small form, Lwaxana extended one of her arms out for a hug.

Odo hesitated. The jarring break from the familiar comfort brought concerns. But he allowed the hug, accepted it, and even returned it. She was once his wife, after all, and such contact should be returned.

“Lwaxana,” he said. There was a joy in his voice, but it was muted by concern. When she pulled away, a smile still on her face, he didn’t share that same happiness. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you,” she said, no less delighted.

“I can see that, but the station isn’t safe. There’s a war going on. You could be–”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” she said with a wave of her free hand, “I’ve been in plenty of sticky situations before. I was once kidnapped by some rather nasty Ferengi and managed to escape without so much as a scratch. You wouldn’t believe how monstrous those things are.”

“No, I can.” Odo felt ease slip through him again.

“Besides, I can’t really returned to Betazed anyway. Not if I want to fall under Dominion control. So here is safer for me. I don’t plan on staying long, though. I’m supposed to be meeting Mr. Homn on Riza in five days. He was able to secure some of my belongings and I’ll be staying there until all of this is sorted out.” She paused. Odo went to reply, but then she looked down. “Oh, I almost forgot. This is my son, Odal. I named him after you, you know. It only seemed fair.”

Odo looked from Lwaxana’s face to the child. The large black eyes were on him now. Though the boy held none of his features, he did carry a delightful calm that he was familiar with himself. It was a reflection of his “living in the moment” state that he’d traveled away from in the recent months. He found comfort in the gaze and even smiled. The boy, Odal, offered none in return.

“Would you like to hold him?” Lwaxana asked.

And then calm returned to panic. His sudden surprise showed on his face and he stammered.

“I couldn’t possibly–”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you can!” Without any other warning, Lwaxana practically thrust Odal into his arms. Odo gathered up the boy and held him per Lwaxana’s instructions. It took a moment. Then the boy eased against him and curled his fingers against the crafted fabric of his uniform.

“See? He likes you.” Lwaxana’s words were not relaxing, but the boy’s quiet acceptance of the situation was. So, Odo allowed the arrangement with a smile. “Now, we do have to catch up and I’m quite hungry. Would you like to eat?”

“I don’t eat,” Odo reminded her, “But I will join you and Odal for lunch anyway.”

Lwaxana’s smile blossomed once more.

“Excellent! That gives you more time to talk. I want to hear everything about what you’ve been doing! I’m sure Odal will be delighted to hear about it as well. Come!” She headed straight to the replimat as if she’d been living on the station for years. Odo followed. He didn’t question it. He simply let her presence and enthusiasm comfort his worries. Odal leaning against him helped too.


	87. The Doll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir, Betazoid OC
> 
> Established Garashir. Warnings for possession, OC death mention.
> 
> Prompt: The doll’s head turned. Garashir. For [Tumblr ask box meme](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/152389364213/haunted-prompts). [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/163195131463/garashir-for-dark-prompt-18-i-knew-i-forgot)]

The promenade was full. People and shop stalls and extra security officers cluttered the lengthy, slowly curved hallway and instilled the space with chatter and laughter and life. Garak knew Julian felt comfortable in that. He added to the babble with his own, which was no less passionate than his lunchtime debates. Garak took solace in Julian’s normalcy. Though, it truly was the only thing he took solace in at that moment.

Garak avoided these events. Too many people in tight quarters never sat well with him. In the past, such events would illicit panic attacks that clung onto him until he retreated to the familiarity of his quarters. Even then, it would take time to fully slip from his scales and leave him be.

But this event was to celebrate the day. It was a year ago that the Federation and Bajoran forces took Deep Space Nine back. Though war was still going on, the celebration was something that the Bajorans felt was necessary. Garak heard the arguments. “It could lift the spirits of the people.” Nonsense. It would be a day to celebrate nothing more than a tactical gain. It hardly meant that war was over. Truly, it meant that it was only beginning. It was sentiment Garak didn’t understand.

He went out and surrounded himself with that sentiment anyway. It wasn’t his idea, nor did he have any interest in participating. It was Julian’s wish that they go out together, to enjoy the small victories that they were capable of, that Garak himself had been a part of.

So far, such victories offered nothing for him but worries and crowds that were nothing but invasive.

There was a lull in their one-sided conversation that Garak’s eyes jarred through the crowd, over stalls, passed familiar faces. Then a sigh left the doctor’s mouth.

“I’m sorry, Garak.”

Garak peered over. Julian was looking at his own fingers, which were pressed in front of him.

“I thought coming out for the festival would brighten your spirits a little.”

“Why would such a thing be necessary? You are aware this is a time of war, my dear. We should be focused on ending the matter, not celebrating victories that are currently irrelevant.”

“I know you feel that way, I just thought you could use a night where you didn’t think about it.”

Garak opened his mouth and went to say something a touch cruel. A habit, as of late. But the pure sadness that crossed over the good doctor’s face made him pause. It was his Federation optimism that tainted is thoughts in such a way. Over lunch, comments on that fact were acceptable. But in that moment, the doctor’s optimism of Garak’s momentary forgetfulness would cause a rift. A small one, perhaps, but it would make the doctor’s good will more forced and his nearness less comforting by far. So, Garak stowed the comment away with the others that he withheld since their relationship blossomed on the Defiant.

“Such a night would be quite pleasant, I admit, but this gathering is not relaxing to me in the slightest. Perhaps a different course would suffice next time.”

Julian looked at his hands a moment longer. Garak could see thoughts rolling through the doctor’s mind as his expression changed. The saddened gaze quickly flicked to an enthusiastic one as his head lifted.

“Then let’s stop at one last shop and then return to your quarters,” Julian said, the light back in his voice. “Even if we have a routine night, it should be better than this for you, right?”

Garak couldn’t help but smile. His, however, was not as enthusiastic.

“Of course.”

Julian’s eyes scanned the promenade. Then his hand reached out and grabbed Garak’s. “This way,” he said. Garak let the doctor’s warmth guide him through the crowd. He stayed close enough to hide the contact from most, but he was certain some glimpsed upon their entangled fingers. Yet, he didn’t mind. The touch was too comforting in the crowded space for Garak to pay much attention to the stares.

After a minute, they arrived at a small stall. Julian greeted the unfamiliar shop owner with a smile. Garak did not. But he gazed briefly on the Betazoid. He seemed nice enough and regarded them both with a passive politeness. He likely knew that Garak held some form of anxiety about him, given the man’s natural abilities, so he allowed his anxiety to be a little more physically present. He tightened his hand in Julian’s and tensed his shoulders. Julian responded only by rubbing his thumb against the base of Garak’s own.

There was a moment of consideration before Julian picked up a bottle of aged Betazed wine and some chocolate. Not Garak’s favorites, but he wouldn’t argue. He allowed Julian to release his hand so he could go to the shop keeper and pay. Garak allowed his eyes to scan the promenade. No one’s met his. A current of celebratory nonsense continued.

“What’s this?” Julian asked.

Garak turned. Julian’s gaze caught a small doll, a fabric thing stitched together with tailor-like perfection. It’s button eyes and sewed smile offered a delicate look. Though sitting upright, it was clear the arms and legs were designed to be floppy. Yet, the head was attached to a plastic base, which would allow it to swivel. It was quaint, though nothing that would normally pique the doctor’s interest.

“It’s a doll that my daughter made,” the shopkeeper said, his voice polite, “It’s the last one I have.”

Julian picked it up. Garak watched the doll for a moment. Then, his eyes flicked to the doctor’s face. There was an expression ship. He hadn’t seen the first expression long enough to determine what washed over the man. But the second was the same kind curiosity that no doubt drew Julian to the doll to begin with. Garak watched him set the doll on the counter with the chocolate and wine.

“I’ll take it,” he said.

“Whatever for?” Garak asked.

“Molly will like it.”

Ah, the O’Brien girl. Her birthday was coming up, wasn’t it? Perhaps another kimono was in order. He made a mental note to talk with Chief O’Brien about the matter.

Garak watched Julian pay. The items were bagged and handed over. Then Julian came back to him and they walked to the turbolift. Their hands reminded untangled, but Garak was sure that wouldn’t last throughout the evening.

The turbolift was empty when they arrived. When the doors shut behind them and carried them to the habitat ring, the chatter of the promenade slipped away. Garak sighed. Though the small space was hardly refreshing, it was nice to be away from the waves of people. The doors opened and they stepped into the equally empty habitat ring. Garak led the way to his quarters, his tension easing every step of the way. Once they arrived and stepped inside, the entire scene was a memory and the anxiety that came with it was nonexistent.

Garak walked to the couch. Julian set out the wine and chocolate, but left the doll in the bag. Then he turned to the replicator to get to wine glasses, no doubt. Garak fished the doll from the bag.

It was fabric - a beige color similar to Betazed skin. It would have likely had the same back eyes had the button not been there. Despite having a swiveling base beneath it’s head, the doll’s face remained towards his. There was almost something unsettling about that.

“What are you doing?” Julian asked. His voice was coated with curiosity.

“Admiring the handiwork,” Garak said, “And considering if I should make Molly’s new companion a wardrobe of it’s own.”

“I guess you could, but wouldn’t you rather make another kimono?” Julian asked.

“I still can. Perhaps I could even give this delightful doll a matching one. It may illicit more sentiment for it, no doubt.”

“The Chief might find that unsettling.”

“Even more of a reason to creating a matching set.” Garak looked up. He expected Julian to scoff and roll his eyes. Instead, Julian’s eyes were on the doll. There was still a smile, but it seemed dampened by something. Garak frowned.

“Is there something the matter?”

Julian’s eyes snapped to him again. There was a moment of floundering as the doctor’s mind raced for a response. It was an expression Garak missed over the past years. He questioned the nostalgia.

“No, I just… it’s not like you to be so… kind, I suppose.”

“It’s a gift for a child of your friend’s, my dear. Is there reason for unkindness towards her?”

“No, but it’s still unusual.”

“Perhaps it is. Maybe after all these years, your Federation mentality is causing me to change.”

The scoff Garak was expecting earlier finally emerged as a toying smile touched Julian’s lips. He closed the space between them and set the replicated wine glasses on the table. “I somehow doubt that.”

Garak set down the doll face up and picked up the wine bottle. He uncorked it with ease.

“Now, is this a conversation kind of evening?” Garak asked.

“It can be,” Julian answered, “Unless you were interested in something else.”

Julian nearly glided over to him. Garak filled the first glass halfway and started on the second. A smile touched the corner of his mouth.

“After you went through the trouble of getting this wine and chocolate, I would hate for it to go to waste this evening,” Garak said. He set down the bottle and handed Julian a glass. “A little conversation, perhaps.”

Julian took a sip of wine, then set the glass aside before he picked up the chocolate and opened it.

“We can always talk later,” Julian said, his voice soft. “Besides, I have an idea I think you’ll like.”

Garak took a sip of wine as the doctor spoke.

“And what idea would that be?”

“Sit on the couch,” Julian said. Garak frowned. Julian blinked at him and a smile grew on his face. There was a playfulness there. Light, airy playfulness. Yet, something wasn’t quite right. There was a flash of the four weeks of the changeling disguised as Julian, of the darkened smiles, of the uninterested stares that would immediately change under his eyes. Garak excused it as nervousness, as Julian’s own personality changes natural to the growing wartime climate. There was no excuse here. Then again, it could be nothing. There was only one way to be sure.

Garak eased to the couch and sat. After a second, Julian settled onto his lap, chocolate in hand.

“Okay,” he said, “All we have to do is eat the same piece of chocolate until our lips meet in the middle.”

“That’s a rather complicated way to get a kiss, my dear,” Garak said.

“Yes, but it’ll be sweeter this way,” Julian answered. The darkened tinge on his expression was gone, replaced with that Federation innocence that Garak was so familiar with. Garak sighed, but allowed a touch of a smile to return to his own features.

“I suppose it’s worth a try.”

Julian grinned, then put a corner of the chocolate between his teeth. He moved in slowly. Garak took the other corner. His free hand moved to the small of Julian’s back as the doctor moved in closer and closer, both of them closing the gap. The chocolate started to melt against his tongue as their lips met. Julian pushed forward first. Garak closed his eyes. The chocolate broke apart as the doctor tilted his head. Garak leaned towards him. Though their tongues were occupied, the kiss ended up being sweet. Perhaps if his mind hadn’t been so wrapped around the oddities before this moment, he would have been able to enjoy the moment.

Julian pulled away. Garak opened his eyes and caught the smile lingering on the doctor’s lips.

“How was it?” Julian asked. Garak swallowed down the chocolate that remained in his mouth.

“I’m uncertain. We may have to try it a second time.”

Julian almost seemed to dance on his lap as his hand reached back to the table. Garak glanced towards the movement, but his gazed toward something else. The doll.

Though it was still lying on the table where Garak left it, the doll’s face was now turned towards them. The button eyes, though inanimate, seemed to stare at him. No, bore into him.

“Doctor.”

Julian hummed. There was a pause. Then, the doctor’s fingers eased on the table. Garak looked at the man’s face. Darkness veiled the man’s expression. Such a look was foreign to the good doctor’s features. He was too innocent for that darkened expression, even after all of the battles and conflict they faced. It was wrath. Pure, uninhibited wrath.

Garak reached over and picked up the doll anyway.

“Perhaps the base of the head needs to be tightened,” Garak said. Julian eased some.

“Maybe. I don’t know how to do that. I’d hate to ruin it.”

Garak fiddled with the head. It moved easily. Julian moved off of his lap. No. He moved away from the doll. He could see the doctor lean away out of his peripheral vision.

“Oh, I’m certain I could fix it. I do have the tools to attempt it.”

“If you want. You don’t have to.”

“Consider it repayment for changing our plans for the evening,” Garak said. He set the doll on the table and stood to get his clothing repair kit, which was just across the room.

“That was my idea,” Julian said.

“Yes, but it was made based off of my discomfort. Surely you can understand.” Garak moved to a taller table away from the couch. He opened the kit. “I’m sure this will only take a moment. Could you bring me the doll, my dear?”

Silence. Garak began fishing out the necessary equipment, and a few extra pieces, as he waited. Julian, however, did not move. Garak looked over. Julian was looking at the doll. Darkness had washed over his expression again.

“Doctor?”

Julian’s gaze flicked to him again. The momentary darkness was gone. There was that same floundering innocence there. But the inaction told Garak enough.

This wasn’t his Julian.

Garak faced the man and placed his hand on the kit.

“Is something wrong?”

“N-no, I just… I spaced out.”

“Ah. Could you hand me the doll then, please?”

Julian still didn’t move. His eyes returned to the doll. Garak picked up a tiny phaser from the kit, pointed it at the doctor, and fired. It struck the man in the chest. A small grunt left him before he fell back on the couch, unconscious. Garak walked over, picked up the doll, and placed it in the doctor’s hand. Then, he waited.

It took only three minutes for the doctor to start waking. As he shifted, the doll fell to the ground. Garak watched the man’s brown eyes flutter open. Then, they met his.

“Garak.” Julian’s voice was hushed, tired, a shell void of the normal enthusiasm. Concern twisted his expression. Garak watched him for a moment, waited for the man to return to a reasonable alertness, then slowly reached for the doll. He didn’t intend to pick it up. He only wanted to see the man’s reaction to the movement.

The doctor’s hands snapped out and grabbed his wrist.

“Garak, don’t!”

Garak looked at the doctor’s face. There was no darkness, no anger - only worry enraptured by wide, Federation-tainted eyes that bore into him with a passion unmatched by whatever had been in him before.

“If you touch it, you’ll switch places with it.”

“What is it?” Garak asked. He straightened up. Julian’s grip eased, but didn’t let go.

“I don’t know. I could run some tests on it in the infirmary.”

“No. I believe I have a better idea.”

Garak waited until the celebration was over. Then he walked the near empty promenade to the Betazoid shopkeeper that was gathering what little remained of his wares. As Garak closed in, he subdued is anger. But that didn’t stop the Betazoid from discovering him and immediately reflecting fear, though mild, in his gaze.

“Good evening,” Garak said, “I came to see if I could return something to you.”

Garak placed the bag, with the doll in it, on the counter. He allowed his anger to blossom then and made sure that the man could feel every lick of it. He man, in return, shivered.

“Please, I was just–”

“I do not need your excuses, I simply want an explanation. If I were you, I would provide one immediately.”

“It’s the spirit of my dead wife,” the man sputtered out, “If a living person makes contact with the doll, the living and the dead switch places. She’s able to get into the memories of the living, so she can pretend to be them until she’s able to get away and leave with me. She’s been doing this for years. I was just trying to find her a new one, since the last host rotted away. All the bodies rot after too long. I guess the souls of the dead can’t stay in the living for too long.”

“And now that the doctor’s where he should be?”

“He’ll be fine. No rot. I promise.”

“Your promise is hardly reassuring.” Garak watched the man flounder and step back. His eyes flicked to the bag and back to Garak’s face. Garak moved in closer and grabbed the man’s arm, holding him in place. His worked came out as a hushed hiss. “If anything should befall the doctor in regards to this little incident, you will see me again. If you still have this little trinket or your wife has occupied another living body at that future date, I take great pleasure in ripping her apart piece by piece right in front of you. Do we have an understanding?”

“Y-yes.”

Garak let him go, turned, and walked back to the turbolift, where the doctor waited. As the doors shut, Julian leaned against the back wall and sighed.

“You’ll be fine, my dear,” Garak said. “I’m quite certain he would have been honest with me given his natural abilities.”

“Unless he knew you weren’t going to kill him,” Julian said. Garak remained silent. “Were you?”

“It’s best not to dwell on such minutiae.”

“Garak.” The terse tone brought with it delight that Garak was relieved to feel.

“My dear doctor, you really do put too much value on one life. He would have allowed your body to rot and you to die in order to live another moment with wife. Surely his death would benefit many others.”

Silence answered him. Garak looked over. Julian was staring at him, a small frown the only indication that he wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

“My response cannot be that surprising,” Garak said.

“It isn’t. I’m just having a hard time believing that you would only kill him because others would benefit from it. You wouldn’t go out of your way to protect people you don’t know unless you were asked to or you got something out of it.”

“And what other reason could I possibly have to kill him?”

“Revenge.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The turbolift doors opened. Julian stepped in the way and trapped Garak inside. Though under Julian’s shadow, he truly didn’t feel all that enclosed.

“Then what did you tell him that you knew I couldn’t hear?”

“Nothing important. Simply a warning.”

“Not a threat?”

“Nothing of the sort.”

Julian narrowed his eyes but let Garak pass. Garak led the way back to his quarters and opened the door. Julian followed him in and then wrapped his arms around Garak’s waist when the door shut.

“I don’t want you to kill anyone because of me, Garak,” Julian said, “No matter what.”

“I would not dream of it.”

“Of course not.”

Julian kissed him lightly on the cheek before he walked to the couch. Garak plucked the two wine glasses off the table, dumped the wine, put the glasses in the replicator, and got to clean ones. He brought those to the open wine bottle.

“Now, did you have something in mind when you purchased these or is that thought already tainted by the events of this evening?” Garak asked. Julian smiled.

“I thought we could enjoy them and talk about literature. Unless you had something else in mind.”

“A conversation will do nicely.”

Julian smiled. His passion was beginning to bubble up again. Garak had never been more grateful to see it.


	88. Inebriated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Established Garashir. Warnings: Alcohol, drinking, intoxication.
> 
> Prompt: _I would love if you could write a fluffy, established garashir fic of the boys getting drunk together and just being funny and cute. After seeing drunk!Garak in the Wire I always wanted to see a future ep where Julian does join Garak in his quarters for a drink (or few)._ [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/163617197183/hey-if-you-are-still-taking-new-prompts-i-would)]

“We should sing.”

The request came like a blur out of Julian Bashir’s lips. Garak stared at him for a moment. In his drunken state, Garak was certain Julian had said it jokingly. But under his slightly reddened cheeks, his eyes blazed with a serious passion matched by those Garak witnessed when they bantered in the promenade. Garak frowned.

“I’m not sure that would be advisable, my dear,” Garak answered. He allowed a drunken edge to his words. His mind, though, was clear. He drank when the doctor urged it, though such pushes were muted under Julian’s own inebriation.

“It’ll be fine! When Chief O’Brien and I get drunk, we sing  _all the time_ ,” Julian said as he climbed to his feet.

Garak watched the doctor’s slender frame teeter from one side to the other before the man straightened out. For a moment, he thought the doctor would topple over. Perhaps the doctor’s enhancements had saved him. Or the long nights drinking with Chief O’Brien. Whatever the case, Garak was able to remain seated as Julian turned and cleared his throat. The clear vodka the doctor was gifted weeks earlier nearly sloshed out of his glass onto Garak’s carpet.

“Are you certain you can remember any songs in this state?” Garak asked.

“Of course!” Julian sounded far too proud. “We’ve sung Jerusalem so much, I know it by heart!  _Bring me my Chariot of Fire_!”

Julian closed his eyes. He swayed. Threatened to crash into the not-so malleable floor. Garak placed his empty glass on the table, lurched, and caught the doctor before he plummeted. Julian’s eyes opened. The brown and blacks of the confused and then kind stare bore into Garak’s face.

“You saved me,” Julian said. It came out as a coo, almost. 

“Perhaps it would be best if you remained seated for this one-man show.”

Julian hummed. Then he lurched forward, lanky arms intertwining behind Garak’s neck. Garak felt the doctor’s warmth seep into him as a haphazard, flirty smile sloshed onto the doctor’s face.

“Maybe I don’t wanna sit.”

“Then you wish to remain standing and risk collapsing on my floor?”

“Nooo.” Julian pressed into him. “We could always get in bed.”

How forward. Garak was warned of this bold statement prior to this evening. Jadzia Dax mentioned it casually over the shop counter when Garak and Julian first started their rather delightful relationship. “Alcohol makes him bold,” she said. She hadn’t been wrong. Garak smiled.

“In time, my dear. Why don’t we sit for now.”

“Together?”

“Of course.”

Garak led him to the couch and guided Julian to sit. The doctor settled onto Garak’s lap and then sprawled himself across the couch. One leg remained straight. The other fell off the side of the couch. His arms followed suit, with one remaining around Garak’s neck as the other brought the glass to his tan lips. Garak watched the man down the remaining vodka before he put the glass on the table. Then brown eyes slipped across his face. Warm fingers soon followed. Both were warm, trusting. In earlier years, Garak would have called the good doctor a fool for such an act. But now, matters had changed. Instead of pushing away the doctor’s form, as was past wants, Garak placed his arms around Julian’s waist and allowed the contact.

“I always liked your scales,” Julian said. His voice turned as soft as his touches. “They’re nice.”

“That’s hardly a good descriptor, my dear.”

Julian only shrugged. Too drunk to argue, perhaps. Or focused on his drunken actions. The doctor’s warm hands crossed to Garak’s lips, paused, then tapered away, far to quickly dipping across Garak’s neck ridges. Julian moved closer. Those brown eyes never wavered away from his face.

“You’re cold,” Julian murmured.

“I’m always quite cold.”

Julian pressed himself against Garak. It was a somewhat humid heat, unfamiliar on Cardassia but still as welcome.

“I’ll keep you warm,” Julian whispered. Garak closed his arms tighter around the young man and the warmth he carried.

“Thank you, though it isn’t necessary. I’ve grown accustomed to the cold over the years.”

Julian hummed. The doctor’s hand pressed against Garak’s chest. His fingers rolled over the center of it, across the thick fabric that protected Garak’s skin from the chill of the station. Garak watched the doctor’s eyes flick to the movement of his own hand.

“Am I warm?” Julian asked. He looked back to Garak’s face.

“Yes, quite warm. You humans are exceptional at maintaining body heat.”

“Does my warmth feel nice?”

“Of course.”

Another drunken smile slipped across Julian’s lips. This one, though flirtatious, held an edge of tiredness that missed Garak’s gaze previously. It was late. Around 01:00 hours, if Garak’s mental clock was still on point. And the alcohol certainly wouldn’t help that exhaustion that would steadily creep into the doctor’s frame.

“I bet it would feel better with our clothes off.”

“It often does, my dear, though I’m not sure such adventures would be wise tonight.” Garak watched the pout form. “You can hardly stand. I’m not certain you would be able to stay alert through any sexual actions and I would certainly not continue them without you. We can engage in such actions when you’re of a sober mind. I believe you would say the same thing if our roles were switched.”

Silence. Julian’s eyes wandered. Slow seconds ticked by. Then the pout dissipated and Julian pressed himself firmly against Garak’s chest.

“Can I still sleep here?” Julian asked.

“If you wish.”

Julian closed his eyes.

“I can hear your heart beat,” Julian said.

“I wasn’t aware I had one.”

“Everyone has a heart, Garak.”

“That is a matter of opinion.”

Julian snuggled closer. Both legs curled onto the couch, though his right one threatened to fall off again.

“Well,  _you_  have a heart,” Julian said. “And even if you didn’t, I would still love you.”

“That’s rather dangerous.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“Is that a rather poor attempt at a witty reply, or a statement of truth?”

Julian’s brows creased together. His brown eyes opened. He processed the question slowly through his mind.

“Both,” he decided out loud. Garak held back a chuckle. His arms still tightened around the doctor.

“At least you still have some sense left,” Garak said. Julian closed his eyes again and the thought-filled tension eased away.

“I always maintain my sense,” Julian said.

“Of course you do, my dear.”

Julian gave no reply. Soon, Garak could make out the soft snores that slipped out with each sleep induced breath. It was only then, when he was certain the doctor wouldn’t feel it, that he kissed the man on the top of his head.


	89. Final Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character: Elim Garak
> 
> Warnings for character death and sad things.
> 
> Prompt: Mary Lambert's "Dear One". It's a letter from Garak to Julian.

My Dear Doctor,

I wish to gift you my last written words.

I realize such a statement will elicit some form of shock. It’s a sentiment that others will share. But the statement is not granted because of a mistake or fault on my end or by others. I’m afraid it is my heart. The one I accused Tain of not having. The one he passed on to me.

Doctors on Cardassia have given me little time. I know you will wish to run tests yourself, but such tests are better spent on those who’s hearts are still worth saving. That is one reason as to why this letter will not arrive to you until I’ve died. My apologies. If I provided you with the chance, I’m quite certain you would have arrived and stayed by my side in my last moment. Perhaps it would ease the experience for both of us. But I’m afraid I cannot allow your presence. It is not simply the medical procedures that have barred this moment. Though I would normally not indulge the truth on the matter, I believe in the pain you are likely to feel, the truth is deserved.

I was reflecting on a conversation we had long ago. I’m uncertain if you’ll remember. It seems so minute in comparison to the rather lengthy, heavier conversations we indulged in throughout the years.

You had just finished reading  _The Never-Ending Sacrifice_. Though I fought adamantly for the piece, you were quite set in your interpretation that the novel was dull and repetitive. For quite some time, I had discounted your opinion on the matter as one built on faulty Federation ideals. But in these years, I’m not certain my interpretation is accurate.

Do not misunderstand, I still frown on your Federation optimism that you still eagerly share, but your opinions are guided by more than Federation views. They are guided by your heart. One that you so freely shared with me throughout these years, no matter how stubbornly I kept mine away. It was a sacrifice I made. One that Tain also made. We couldn’t love. Our lives were too important to the Cardassian state, or so we believed, and love for others would inhibit our love for the state. So, he sealed his away and I did the same.

Though it was buried, my heart still sang, Doctor. Oh, and how it sang. I could never tell you. The state. My sacrifices. It would never stand for any sort of confession on any matters. Even now, my mind begs for me not to write these words to you, for fear all my life’s work will be overturned. But my life is ending. My journey is over. All that are left is these words and the song my heart longed to sing to you.

I wish I could have told you how your warmth shattered me. I wish I could have spoken of the moments where the mere thought of you made me tremble. I wish I could have been enraptured in your touch completely, utterly. I wish I could have walked the promenade with you and dropped the last wall between us. I wish I could have done many, many things. I wish I could list them now. But time is making demands and I must be clear.

My last moments are my last sacrifice.

I chose Cardassia over you, my dear. So I must spend my last moments with Cardassia. It is nothing you have done. It’s a sacrifice that I made. In these last moments, I realize that this sacrifice is my only true regret. I wished a lot of things of the past, of us, but my last wish was only this - I wish I would have ended the sacrifices sooner. It would have allowed me to return to you. It would have allowed me and you, as separate beings, to truly become us. This is aside from any romantic hopes I had, my dear doctor. You were my one true friend. Any built version of us would have been worthy of leaving Cardassia for.

I apologize for the pain this sacrifice will cause you. But take solace, my dear. The sacrifices are ending. The only person affected so negatively by my sacrifices is you. With your heart so bold, I’m certain you will be able to continue forward without the shield I carried.

I will miss you, Julian.

Your friend,  
Elim Garak


	90. Final Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Warnings: Talks of dying.
> 
> Prompt: GARASHIR PROMPT, sequel (AU, unofficial sequel or whatever, idc) to 'Final Letter' where by some blessing of the universe, Julian gets the damn letter early by accident (I don't care how), gets his damn shit together, comes to Cardassia and saves his stupid, self-sacrificial, lizard boyfriend and they get together FINALLY. *cries some more* [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/164135322378/im-an-emotional-wuss-i-know-this-wont-be)]
> 
> Note: This is a continuation of the last prompt fill, Final Letter. You may want to read that first.

It was warmer than Garak remembered. He must have fallen asleep.

Outside his open window, he caught the laughs of children. They carried across the dry Cardassian heat like grace-filled birds, swooping and fluttering and diving and soaring. Such sounds were foreign to Cardassia Prime for months. A giggle, or any joyous noises, were lost in the dust and debris. Garak once believed they’d be lost forever. But here they were, ever present. He’d helped rebuild that. He helped bring that joy to the world and allowed it to carry. His sacrifices were worth it. Yet…

His heart twinged. Garak’s right hand tightened with the pain, though he didn’t fully tighten it. The pain wasn’t due to the heart’s failure.

The letter. Ah, yes. The one he’d saved to his PADD yesterday morning. The one for Doctor Bashir. That’s what rattled his heart. It would for the remainder of Garak’s short life. There was no doubt in his mind that the post-death letter was the right choice though. He’d sacrificed his connection with the dear doctor when he returned and stayed on Cardassia. There was no other option but to die enfolded in blankets, stowed away in a building standing proud under the Cardassian sun. Julian Bashir had no place there.

Garak tilted his head to the left, towards the open window, towards the childhood laughter. He longed for it to take him away again, to carry him to thoughts of rebuilding, of constructing, of a Cardassian future filled with building bridges and stepping away from their destructive past. He tried to force it, but images of Doctor Bashir reading over his words stifled the comforting thoughts immediately. The poor man. He deserved better.

A noise stopped that pity. A shuffle to his right. Someone was in the room with him, sitting in the bedside chair, likely unaware that Garak was awake. A nurse, probably. Someone of Cardassia who decided to sit with him in case his heart finally did give out. It was only a matter of days until that happened. He supposed they would have to check.

Garak opened his eyes and glanced over. Where he expected the young, Cardassian nurse was, instead, an older human. No. Not any human. Doctor Bashir. The innocent youth was somewhat lost on the doctor’s aged face. In it’s place was a silver beard and light wrinkles. Worry and laugh lines etched their way into his skin like creeks dried. They were not deep enough to be comparable to rivers. Though ten or twenty more years were bound to add that depth. The doctor’s hands and eyes were on his lap. His fingers were curled around a Federation PADD. Yet, the doctor was wearing casual clothes that were fit for the Cardassian weather. Thin and loose and bright, the sheets of fabric cascaded over his tan skin with ease and settled naturally over the man’s thin form.

“Doctor.”

Garak’s whisper wasn’t intentional. It came with the surprise that surged through his veins and into his heart. Doctor Bashir’s eyes raised. He, too, looked surprised, though it drained quickly. A smile took it’s place. A gentle, medicinal smile.

“Hi Garak.” Julian said. His voice was a little deeper than Garak remembered. Age, too, likely dropped the tone. Garak should have been delighted. But anger filled him. Someone reached out to Julian for him. Someone thought it best to invite the good doctor into his final days. He did speak of Doctor Bashir often to younger Cardassians, so it wouldn’t have been surprising. But it was is choice to make. It was his final sacrifice. Someone broke it for him.

“Who told you?” Garak asked. His voice wasn’t as heavy with anger as he would have liked. Still, Doctor Bashir frowned.

“You did,” the doctor answered. “Your letter was sent early.”

Silence. Garak blinked. The letter. It already arrived. So Doctor Bashir knew then. He knew that it was a sacrifice and he chose to come anyway. He went against Garak’s own wishes. His anger surged for a moment, then subsided. Drifted. Dissipated. That was very much like Doctor Bashir. To go against his wishes and do as he wanted. Though he appeared aged, there were twists of that man’s personality that hadn’t changed. There was a joy with that.

“I suppose you’re here to say goodbye then,” Garak said.

“No.”

Garak blinked. “Oh?”

“I came here to see if what you told me was true, about your heart,” Julian said, “I looked over the doctor’s notes and did some scans while you were asleep. If there really was no hope for you, I was going to stay on Cardassia without your knowledge and attend your funeral before I returned to the station.”

“But you decided to see me anyway,” Garak answered.

“You can live, Garak.”

Silence.

“You were right about your heart. It’s not fixable. But that’s the only thing wrong with your body. I reached out to Starfleet. Because you helped during the Dominion War and your help on Cardassia Prime has been incredibly beneficial to the rebuilding of Cardassia, they’re willing to give you an artificial heart. Some medical staff members on the station are making one right now. If you agree to the procedure, you can have your new heart in less than two days.”

“And if I don’t agree?”

“You’ll die.”

“Ah. And I suppose you’re going to try to convince me that my life is worth saving because I have value, yes?”

“I think so.”

“You think every life is worth saving, Doctor. That does not mean that every life is valuable.”

“Your life is valuable, Garak.”

Garak chuckled. “Please, you’re only saying that because of my role rebuilding Cardassia. Look around, Doctor. Cardassia’s been rebuilt. Future generations will thrive. My work for the state is done. I have no value for my people, therefor I have no value in living.”

“You do have value past your people.”

“Because I helped with the Dominion War, correct?”

“That’s-”

“Doctor, please. That was years ago. I am no help to the Federation now. My value-”

“Your value is not connected to the work that you do, Garak. It’s connected to the people that love you.”

“No one loves me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Someone told you that, hm? Who was it then? Who would waste their heart on someone like me?”

“I would!”

Garak blinked. Doctor Bashir’s medicinal patience drained over the course of their conversation. In it’s place was rage so poignant that tears eclipsed the doctor’s brown eyes. After a moment, the doctor blinked a few times then dropped to the PADD still in his hands.

“You said that the last person to be hurt by your sacrifices was me,” Julian said, “It doesn’t have to be that way. We could still have everything you wanted. Everything I wanted. We don’t even have to leave Cardassia. I could stay.”

“I could not ask you to leave your career behind.”

“I wouldn’t be.” Doctor Bashir looked up again. The rage and tears were replaced with a serious passion encased in a force calm. A dying storm carried by a soothing wind. “I was considering leaving the station and becoming a medical teacher. There’s nothing left there for me. I thought about doing that on Bajor, but I didn’t talk with anyone there about it yet. I can teach here instead. Starfleet already said they would sign off on a transfer. I just need a reason to stay on Cardassia. If you wanted to live without me, I would still do the procedure. I would still save you. I would just find a different place to teach and ask Starfleet to send another medical teacher here. But if you want a reason to live, I’m telling you that we have a chance. You don’t have to sacrifice us.”

 _Us_.

Was this real? Was this truly happening? Or was this a cruel, vivid dream raised from the dark by a dying man with a last desperate wish. Garak stared at that aged face, as kind and passionate as it was in youth. Then Garak raised his hand. He reached. Warm fingers took his own. They were long, soft, loving. Garak looked at the tan digits. That hand, paired with the other, saved his life more than once. They glided across injuries and wounds just on the surface and healed all of his physical aches. They longed to again. But this time, they would move to replace the heart given to him at birth. The heart he protected. The heart that guided him to his state and tore him away from the love he wanted. The love he needed. The love he now gave in to.

“Please, Julian… save me… one more time.”

Julian smiled.

“Gladly.”


	91. Deep Space Phase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Benjamin Sisko, Miles O'Brien, Jadzia Dax, Kira Nerys
> 
> Established Garashir. Warnings for blood.
> 
> Prompt: Julian gets "phased out" (along with whomever you'd like, if anyone else) like Ro and Geordi in "The Next Phase." Perhaps he doesn't realize what's happened until he looks for Garak to find out what the hell is going on. [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/164228947463/prompt-julian-gets-phased-out-along-with)]

Julian rushed off the turbolift before it fully stopped. He ran to the transporter, medical equipment in hand. He only looked at the people in ops when he was settled. Captain Sisko stared back. Their gazes locked. Julian nodded.

“Energize,” Sisko said.

Julian heard the familiar hum of the transporter. Streaks of silver and gold circled around him like holding cell bars. He held still as the metallic hues glistened and throbbed in time to the hum that enraptured him. Ops remained only for a moment, then it drained into a black void that would have swallowed him whole if not for the protection the metallic beams offered. That void, too, faded. In it’s place, the bridge of a Federation vessel. Sparks and defeated wurrs heaved out of collapsing metal frames. Bodies were strewn across those metal frames and the floor, cuts and blood and burns visible even before the metal bars dissipated.

Once the transporter hum gone and the streams of metal vanished, Julian lurched towards the body closest to him and pulled a tricorder from his medical kit. He scanned. No signs of life. Onto the next body. The same. The next was the same as well. And the next. And the next. The captain, the weapons specialist, the navigator, three security offers, and two nurses were dead, their lives snuffed out through the violence of war.

Julian pressed his combadge.

“Bashir to ops.”

“Go ahead, Doctor.” Sisko again. His voice was as calm yet commanding over the connection feed.

“Everyone on the bridge is dead. I’m going to see if there are survivors elsewhere.”

“Be quick.”

Julian rushed to the bridge door. It tried to open for him, but the door only managed to slide open a third of the way, and at an angle. A small, triangular opening appeared at the bottom and spread to midway up the door frame. Julian managed to crawl through.

The hallway that led to the rest of the vessel was void of bodies. He peered through open doors. They offered the same emptiness. Time of battle. No time for loitering.

Julian worked through the small hall and found the infirmary. Like the bridge, the medical room was full of the dead. Nurses and doctors and patients alike lie motionless across consoles, on beds, throughout the floor, their lives taken by explosions and stabbings and phaser shots. He recognized a few of the medical team members, but blocked their familiarity from his mind. He couldn’t linger. He had to mourn later.

He left the infirmary and charged through the empty halls again. Though, they were starting to fill. There was one body, then another, then three more, then five. No signs of life. The started having to step over bodies of the fallen in order to transverse into the rest of the ship.

After minutes of scanning bodies and directed searching, Julian entered the engineering room. Over the dying huffs of the engine, Julian heard the groans and murmurs of someone alive.

“Hello?” he called.

“Wh-wha-”

A yelp. It came from the upper level of the engineering room. Julian climbed the ladder, medical kit and tricorder still in hand. There, tucked behind one of the metal walls, was an engineer, his gray jacket and yellow undershirt singed. Under that, burns and blood littered the man’s black skin. Julian rushed in and scanned him. Alive. Very much alive. He could be treated at the infirmary and live.

“Who are you?” the man asked. Julian looked at his face. Young. He reminded Julian of himself, years ago, before the war and the violence and the death. The boyish features that once overtook his face when he first arrived on the station were mirrored back at him through the fear and pain. A pang hit his heart. He’d grow now, like Julian himself did, once they got to the infirmary.

“I’m Doctor Julian Bashir. I work on Deep Space Nine. Your vessel-”

“We made it.” A sigh of relief exited the man’s lips. A small smile curled. “Thank God. I couldn’t reach the bridge and thought the entire comm system was down. I had to change our trajectory manually. I’m glad it worked. Did you reach the bridge yet?”

Julian said nothing. But his silence was enough. The man’s smile faded and his eyes flicked away. Julian pressed his own combadge.

“Bashir to ops. I found a survivor.”

“Just one?” The question came from Jadzia. It was hushed. Julian hoped that the young man didn’t catch it when his non-enhanced ears. He didn’t seem to, but that didn’t mean anything.

“He’s sitting in front of me. He’s injured and needs to be transported to the infirmary. Can you beam him in without me? I want to check the ship one last time to make sure there aren’t any other survivors.”

“Chief?” Sisko asked.

“Their comm system is damaged,” Chief O’Brien said, “I can’t get a trace on his badge through the interference of the engine. If you want to transport him alone, you’ll have to take him to the bridge.”

Julian stared at the man’s face. He couldn’t traipse him throughout the vessel and make him stare at his dead companions. He’d have to transport off the ship with the young man and then beg the captain to let him back on. Or…

“If I were to take his badge, could you see my movements through the ship?” Julian asked.

“Once you get away from the engine room, yeah,” Chief O’Brien answered.

Julian plucked off his own badge, took the young man’s, and traded him.

“I traded our badges. You can transport him out of the engine room without me. I’ll make my way back to the bridge. If I take anyone with me, they should show up on the radar. Beam us out once we enter the bridge.”

“You don’t have a lot of time, Doctor,” Captain Sisko said, “Don’t loiter.”

“Yes, sir.”

Julian stood. The metallic beams of the transporter came again. They engulfed the young man and carried him away, off to the station infirmary. Julian immediately moved once the man was gone.

Julian didn’t bother scanning anyone as he passed them. No one that he’d scanned before, at any rate. He simply peered into rooms to make sure that there were no survivors. He called out in intervals. No one responded. No one reached out. No one moved except for him.

It wasn’t long before he made it back into the bridge. He stopped next to the navigation console. It took a moment, then the metallic hum of the transporter surrounded him. The bridge began to fade. Just before it was completely gone, though, the beams wobbled. Julian froze. His stomach knotted. His heart raced. The void came. The hums grew in volume. His borrowed badge screamed. Julian’s breath caught in his throat. He waited. Soon, ops began to appear around him. People stared his way. Captain Sisko’s gaze held the most intent. The image wavered.

“Chief,” Captain Sisko said. His voice sounded grainy, distant.

“I’m trying, sir,” Chief O’Brien answered.

Ops dimmed. Black threatened to gather up his friends. No, him. The metallic beams waved and curled. The badge screamed louder. Julian winced. His fists clenched.  _Come on, Chief_ , his mind begged over and over like a prayer against the lost. With a wild lurch, the prayer was answered. Ops came into full view. The metallic beams flashed away. Silence. Julian sighed and closed his eyes.

“What happened, Chief?” Sisko asked. The terse, commanding tone was gone, replaced with something somber, something calm but on the verse of breaking.

“I… I don’t know.” Chief O’Brien’s response, too, was soft, uncertain. “I thought I had him, but…”

_But_.

Julian opened his eyes. Eyes were on the transporter, on him, yet they all held a sadness unparalleled. Beeps filled the silence that weighted the room.

“He’s gone, sir.”

Julian glanced at Chief O’Brien’s face, at the saddened expression, and the dismay of those around him. After a moment, he stepped into the room, stepped into the weighted silence.

“Chief, I’m right here,” Julian said. More silence.

“Read over the log,” Captain Sisko answered, “I want a fully explanation for what happened as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” Chief O’Brien said.

Captain Sisko turned towards his ready room. Julian dropped his medical equipment and chased after him.

“Captain, wait! I’m here! I–”

Julian reached. His hand should have touched the captain’s arm. Instead, his hand phased through it, passed skin and muscle and tendons and bone, through blood and plasma, through life. Julian reeled back. Captain Sisko never stopped. He walked into his ready room and the door closed behind him.

Julian stood alone. His hand hovered. His heart race. Then both fell slow. His heart joined his stomach in it’s knotted mess. He blinked twice, thrice more, then looked towards Chief O’Brien. The man was silent, poised, stoic. He wasn’t reading, he wasn’t engaging, he wasn’t moving. He was lost, just as Julian was, only his body and mind were still physical.

“Chief.” It was Jadzia’s voice that broke the silence. Julian looked over at her as she approached him. Her hand rested on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go for a quick walk. I’ll look over the log while your gone.”

Miles got up without a word and headed to the turbolift. Julian gathered his medical supplies and entered the lift with him.

“Promenade,” Miles said. The lift carried them away.

Julian looked at Miles’s face, at the defeated slouch that bent his shoulders forward. “Chief?” Julian asked. He leaned in, tried to catch the man’s gaze, tried to find him. There was nothing to find. Because, to Miles, there was nothing to see. Julian reached out with his free hand. It phased through, just as it had with Captain Sisko. And just like with Sisko, Miles didn’t respond to it.

The lift doors opened. The promenade was there. Miles stepped from the lift. Julian followed only two steps, then stilled. Then he went to a nearby bench, opened his medical kit, and pulled out the tricorder.

According to the tricorder, he was human and there was nothing wrong with him. But the tricorder came with him through the transporter. Whatever happened to him happened to his medical equipment as well. Of course it would read him that way.

Julian put the tricorder back in the medical kit and rushed to the infirmary. The only patient was the injured man he saved from the ship. The wreckage. He was quiet as the nursing staff healed his physical wounds. Julian passed them and headed to the medical equipment. He reached for a tricorder. His hand went through it. Julian sighed. Of course.

He turned and watched the nursing staff work a moment. Then he pulled out his own tricorder, closed the gap, and scanned one of the nurses.

They didn’t register on his tricorder at all. Julian flipped through all the settings. Nothing. Just a blank screen. It was like they weren’t in front of him at all. They were just visions, nothing else. Julian pushed his hand in front of one of their tricorders. It was the same.

Okay. He wasn’t in the same plane of existence. Humans and Bajorans couldn’t pick up on his presence. Likely other species on the station would respond to him in the same way, but he had to be sure. He walked onto the promenade again and started his search. Every new species he passed, he reached. None of them responded to him. One after the other, he was ignored. Julian felt what little hope he had dwindle with each being. His last shard of hope resided with his boyfriend, who was no doubt tucked away in his tailoring shop.

Julian walked to Garak’s Clothiers slowly. He wanted that hope to stay latched onto him as long as possible. He knew the likelihood of Garak noticing him was small, minute, even, but he had to hope. He had to. He didn’t want to think about what it meant if Garak didn’t see him. If no one did.

Too soon, Julian phased through the clothing shop doors. Garak was there, his head down, his hands stitching together some chosen fabrics in his delicate, docile way. It was odd, in a way. Though Julian had walked into the shop before, he’d never seen Garak fully engaged in his work. He was always aware, always observing. An occupational hazard brought by the Obsidian Order, no doubt. Even with Julian he couldn’t seem to fully put his guard down. But here, he thought he was alone.

And that’s when Julian lost all hope.

Still, he crossed the room and reached. His hand phased through the Cardassian’s shoulder. There was no response. Julian sighed and gave into his hopelessness. He walked to the side of the room, turned, and attempted to lean against the wall. He phased through it, back pedaled, and then caught himself before he fell. A sigh left his lips. But the sound of it was covered up by something else. A soft, high paced beeping.

Julian phased back into the shop. Garak stared his way. He froze. After a moment, Garak walked over. His hand reached for Julian’s chest. The fingers didn’t hit, though. They went through his body unhindered and pressed against the wall. Julian stepped out of the way and watched.

Garak pulled the metal panel off of the wall and set it aside. Then, he pushed in a code on a pad labeled with Cardassian numbers. The beeping stopped. Garak’s eyes scanned over the mechanics for a moment. Then he replaced the panel, paused, searched the room, and returned to his work. His hands were not quite as gentle as before.

Julian stepped in front of the panel. Had that been his doing? Had to be. What else could it have been? Julian pushed his hand through the wall and waved it around. Nothing. He did the same with the other hand. Nothing. He stepped forward. Nothing. He pushed himself entirely through the wall.

The beeping started again.

Julian jumped back into the room and looked to Garak. Confusion bubbled onto the surface of the Cardassian’s expression. “How odd,” he murmured. He crossed the room and pulled off the panel again. He pressed in the code, paused, then looked over the device again. He took his time, his blue eyes scanning with the same intensity as they had when Julian and Garak first met, though the matter seemed grave to him this time around.

Julian moved through the device again. It beeped. Garak frowned.

“Perhaps it’s in need of repairs,” Garak said. Then he shut the device off and returned the panel. Though Garak said the words, Julian could tell he wasn’t fully convinced. Hope returned. He had a chance. If Garak was willing to try and repair it or turn it back on, he could reach someone. How, he wasn’t sure. But maybe Garak would reach out to someone else for help. Maybe they could figure it out. Maybe he could get back.

Julian lingered in the shop. He watched Garak work, wandered the shop, and waited. After an hour, the shop doors opened. Captain Sisko stepped in.

“Ah, Captain,” Garak answered. His work was discarded temporary on the work desk, “How can I help you?”

“I’m afraid I’m not here for your help, Garak.”

“A personal visit?”

“Not quite.” There was a pause. “I’m afraid Doctor Bashir is gone.”

“Gone?”

“He was lost in a transporter accident.”

Silence. Julian watched the Cardassian’s face. It was blank, expressionless. Then something clicked.

“How long ago was that?”

“Mister Garak–”

“Humor me, Captain.”

“About two hours ago.”

“And you’re certain he was lost?”

“Chief O’Brien and Lieutenant Dax are convinced of it and I have no reason to doubt them.”

“Perhaps I do.”

Garak turned to the device again. As he spoke, he took off the panel and set it aside.

“Below this panel I have a sensor that checks the room for electrical field anomalies,” Garak said. “I had placed it in the room after the unfortunate bombing incident so if another bomb or device was planted in my shop, I would be made aware of it upon my entry and would be able to leave without any physical harm done. Around one hour ago, it started signaling that something was in the room. But when I checked the device, he could not pinpoint a location. I reset it and thought nothing of it. But it went off a second time. I initially believed that the device was in need of repairs, but perhaps I was mistaken.”

“You think it’s Doctor Bashir attempting to make contact?” Sisko asked.

“It’s possible, though I cannot say for certain how. If it were truly a transporter accident, it’s doubtful that he would set off the sensor himself. He would have to have something mechanical with him that released a triggering signal.”

Julian frowned. A triggering signal. Well that would explain why has hands didn’t work. But if it wasn’t his body, then what was it. His medical equipment? Julian looked down. His eyes immediately caught the combadge. The borrowed one. The one that screamed in the transporter. Maybe it was the reason why his signal was lost. Maybe it could help him get back. Lightly, Julian took the combadge off and held it in his right hand.

There was a click.

“The device is on again,” Garak said. He stepped back. “Perhaps if we wait long enough, it will–”

Julian lurched forward. The combadge went through the sensor. It beeped. Garak stepped forward again and Julian pulled back. The beeping stopped.

“You’re sure it’s not broken?” Sisko asked.

“Quite. Why don’t we run some tests to be sure,” Garak said. He stepped back again. “If it is Doctor Bashir, we’ll have him set off the sensor on the count of three. Is that reasonable?”

“Yes,” Captain Sisko said. Julian nodded, though he was sure neither of them saw it. He poised himself near the device and prepared.

“Good. One. Two. Three.”

Julian thrust the combadge forward. The sensor went off again. He pulled back as Garak stepped forward. A smile grew on his face. Garak stepped to the device and shut it off again.

“One more time, to be sure. This time, Doctor, I’m going to ask you a question with a numerical answer that I’m quite certain you only know the answer to. I want you to set off the sensor when I reach that number.” Garak stepped back. “Years ago, I gave you one of many explanations as to why I was exiled. In that explanation, I told you that I interrogated a group of children. How many children did I claim were present?”

Julian knew. Julian knew and almost screamed the answer. Instead, he whispered. “Five,” over and over until Garak very calmly reached the number aloud. Then Julian pushed the combadge forward. The sensor went off. Julian jumped back. He almost bounced on his feet as Garak reached forward and shut the sensor off.

“Can we take the sensor to ops?” Captain Sisko asked.

“Yes, though you will have to give me a moment to extract it from the wall.” Garak got to work. Julian picked up his medical equipment and clutched the combadge tightly in his hand. Captain Sisko pressed his combadge and told Chief O’Brien and Jadzia to return to ops. Then the three walked to the turbolift and entered ops side-by-side, though Julian knew he couldn’t be seen. That didn’t stop the puzzles expressions from the emotionally drained officers lingering on ops.

“I know that we’ve had a strained afternoon,” Captain Sisko said, “But there’s a chance we can get Doctor Bashir back.”

The weight of the room slowly eased as Captain Sisko explained matters. As he talked, Garak silently connected the sensor to the central ops table. No one stopped him. Not even Major Kira, who observed Garak from a distance but kept her ears trained on Captain Sisko’s words. Once the device was connected completely, the members of ops ran through similar tests Garak did. They asked numerical questions that Julian knew the answer to, then started asking “yes or no” questions where yes was the count of one and no was the count of two. Then, they started looking through the log again and throwing out possibilities. Julian interrupted when the spoke of the electrical system on the other ship, the comm system, the combadge.

“If the combadge is setting off the sensor, what if Julian goes into the transporter without it?” Kira asked.

“I don’t think the transporter would be able to read his signal,” O’Brien answered.

“What if he kept the badge on in the transporter and then threw it off in the middle of transporting?” Kira asked.

“It could make his pattern easier to read,” O’Brien answered, “Or we’d lose him forever.”

“We could try that with Julian’s previous transporter log active on the computer,” Jadzia suggested, “Maybe the previous pattern without the interference will keep Julian stable during transport.”

“Or it’ll jumble the computer’s read out,” O’Brien said.

“All right,” Sisko said. There was a pause. “Why don’t we see if the scanner can read him first with the combadge. Doctor Bashir, can you step into the transporter please.”

Julian set off the sensor again before he walked to the transporter. The beeping stopped. He settled on the transporter pad and held the combadge in both hands in front of him.

“I can’t see is pattern,” O’Brien said, “But there is an odd signal coming from the transporter pad.”

“The combadge?” Sisko asked.

“If I had to guess, but there’s no way to be sure,” O’Brien said.

“Can you lock on it?”

There was a pause as O’Brien pressed buttons on the panel.

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Let’s activate the transporter and see what happens.”

A collective breath was taken in the room. Julian clutched the combadge tighter. The familiar hum of the transporter started. Nothing appeared around him, though.

“The transporter’s got his pattern now,” O’Brien said.

“Dax, go ahead and pull up Doctor Bashir’s last normal transporter log,” Captain Sisko said. “We’ll try and beam him in. Doctor, I hope you’re ready.”

“I am, Captain,” Julian said. His words didn’t seem to be heard. The hums grew louder. The voices of ops mingled with the hums like a soft orchestra. Beams of gold and silver surrounded him. They seemed normal, dancing and glistening. Then, the badge wailed and warped the tendrils immediately. They bowed and cracked.

“There’s too much interference,” Jadzia said. Her voice came from a bubble far outside the beams. Something adjusted. The colors of the beams sharpened. The screeches of the badge grew louder. Julian winced. He closed his eyes. A half-pained yell escaped his throat. The badge continued to scream, unhindered by his own.

“Doctor.” Garak. Julian opened his eyes. Beyond the twists of silver and gold was Garak. His colors were muted but he was there, present, no doubt worried but unable to fully show it. He could be seen. That was enough.

“The combadge is screeching!” Julian yelled back.

“That’s the combadge?!” Kira asked. Voices were exchanged. There was an adjustment. The bars warped again. The screeching intensified. Julian screamed again. His eyes clenched shut. He fell to his knees, his hands still clinging to the wailing metal that rebelled against the transporter. Warmth tricked down his ears and nose. The warmth reached his mouth. It tasted of copper. It tasted of blood.

He couldn’t hear them anymore. All that remained was the blackness of the back of his eyelids and the screeching. The horrible, pervasive screeching. His fingers trembled around the badge. They clutched in desperation. Then his panicked mind, on the edge of breaking, revolved. He flung the badge out of the transporter and into whatever lay beyond his closed off vision.

The screeching stopped. The world remained black.

Coolness touched his forehead. It woke up from the void and urged him back with soft, calming brushes back and forth, back and forth. He didn’t question it. He was too enraptured by the gentleness of the motion to bother asking anything of it. It was merely there, present, welcome in the black that slowly twisted into a darkened gray. The fog seemed to stuff his ears and mute the world around him. It was almost like he was under water, drifting in a sea of spiraling dark.

"Both of his eardrums are ruptured,” a voice said. It was distant, but Julian could still connect it to Jadzia. “It reads like barotrauma but that usually only happens if the person goes through pressure changes.”

“Is it treatable?” Garak asked.

The concern in Garak’s voice was as delicate as his touch. Julian stirred. He tried once, twice, and then finally allowed his eyes to open. Garak hovered over him. Jadzia was at his left. The others, though present, weren’t in his view. They were still in ops. The curve on the transporter hung over his head.

“Hi Julian,” Jadzia said.

“What happened?” he asked.

“The sounds of the combadge caused your eardrums to rupture. You threw it out of the transporter and we were able to lock onto your signal without a problem. When you appeared, you’d collapsed on the transporter pad. We called the infirmary. A medical team is coming to take you there and treat you. You’ll be fine.”

“And the combadge?” he asked.

A voice answered. Julian glanced at the direction it was coming. Captain Sisko was there. His lips were moving. But his voice was too quiet. He couldn’t make out the words, even with his enhanced hearing. Julian frowned as Captain Sisko stopped talking.

“I’m sorry, Captain, I didn’t hear you.”

Sisko frowned and looked to Jadzia. Julian looked over at her. The medical team appeared behind her a moment later and crowded around him. Garak’s hand stopped. The Cardassian tensed. Julian looked up at his face and offered him a smile. Garak offered none in return.

“I’ll be okay,” Julian said. Garak didn’t seem convinced.

After a few scans, the medical team helped Julian to his feet. He wavered for a moment, but was able to walk to the turbolift, then through the promenade to the infirmary. The dried blood from his nose and ears was washed away as nurses started barotrauma treatment. The pressure from his ears eased away. The twinges of pain subsided. His hearing returned. The clarity of the staff, the station, the distant people was welcome. His once clouded world was free from dampening. He let out a sigh of relief.

It was only then, through that clarity, that he noticed the survivor was absent from the room. He inquired. They moved him to the back of the infirmary to rest, one of the nurses said, her voice soft. He was awake still, no doubt, but dealing with things. Julian decided not to go back there to talk with him.

He returned to ops not long after he was released. Garak was gone. But the rest of the senior staff crowded around him to ask after him, ask him what happen, offer him hugs, and so on. Then he walked into the ready room with Captain Sisko and gave him a report of the ship, the dead crew, and what he knew of the survivor. He offered to run more tests on the young man, but Captain Sisko declined and said he’d talk to a different member of the medical team soon. There was a lull in their conversation.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, Doctor,” Sisko said.

Julian was going to protest, but his heart stopped him. Garak. He couldn’t return to work like nothing happened. Not when Garak so gently caressed his forehead and looked so concerned at his own pain. He’d never seen the Cardassian like that before. So, instead, Julian nodded.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll return to work tomorrow morning.”

Sisko nodded. Julian turned and walked out of the ready room. He said cheerful goodbyes to the senior staff in ops before he took the turbolift to the promenade. He ventured to Garak’s clothing shop and found it closed. He took the turbolift to the habitat ring and walked to Garak’s quarters. He rang the buzzer. Silence.

“Garak, it’s me.”

More silence. Julian thought his quarters would be empty as well. Then, the doors opened. Julian saw Garak sitting on the far couch. He entered. The doors closed behind him.

“It’s thoughtful of you to visit me before you return to work, Doctor.”

“Captain Sisko gave me the rest of the day off,” Julian replied.

“And you wish to go out and celebrate your liveliness with your friends and myself, yes?”

“Actually, I thought we could just spend time together.”

Silence. Garak stared at him. His face showed no emotion and offered no give. Julian could almost feel the resistance of the moment. Garak was battling something in his own mind. Julian walked to him and didn’t wait for the man to protest. He simply planted himself on the couch and faced him, a soft smile on his face.

“Thank you, Garak.”

“There is nothing to thank me for, Doctor. You happened to set of a sensor I had planted months ago. Surely you would have found another way to make contact had that not been an option.”

“That’s not why I thanking you.”

“Then what could you possibly be thanking me for?”

“Your concern.”

Garak looked at him. Julian offered a soft smile. Silence. Then Julian reached. His hand brushed against Garak’s clothed forearm. Garak didn’t resist. Julian moved in closer. Then he looked down at Garak’s hand. It lay with stoic resolve on Garak’s own leg. Then Garak’s arm slipped from his grasp. Julian looked up. Garak moved towards him. Cardassian arms circled around him. Garak’s face buried into his neck. Julian’s smile grew. He closed his eyes and brought his own arms around the Cardassian’s body. He rested his cheek on the top of Garak’s head and exhaled slowly.


	92. Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Established Garashir
> 
> Prompt: Garak/Bashir; "And in this twilight how dare you speak of grace?" [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/164263021753/star-trek-ds9-garakbashir-and-in-this)]

Doctor Bashir was looking out at the stars. Garak didn’t have to see his face to know that there was a smile pressed against it, those upturned lips a sign of the dear man’s Federation birthed optimism. Garak shivered, crossed his arms, and glared at the back of the man’s head.

“Doctor, shouldn’t you be using that enhanced intellect of yours to help us escape from this room?”

“I can’t do anything until the Defiant’s power comes back on,” Julian answered. “I’m sure the others are figuring it out.”

“Assuming they’re still alive.”

“I’m sure they are.”

“Your confidence is hardly reassuring.”

There was a lull in conversation. Julian tilted his head back some, though his eyes stayed on the black expanse speckled with distant stars and planets they both had likely seen before.

“You could try and enjoy this, Garak.”

“There’s nothing to enjoy.”

“But it’s so peaceful.”

Garak scoffed. “It’s dark and cold and you wish to speak of peace, Doctor?” Garak watched Julian turn to face him, a small frown on the man’s not-so-young face. “There is nothing peaceful about this situation.”

“That’s because you’re not allowing peace in. You could be graceful if you tried.”

“And now in this twilight you wish to speak of grace? Really, Doctor, I believe our time away from the station has caused you more harm than good.”

Julian smiled softly. It faded too quickly, though. He turned back to the stars. Garak watched him for a moment; watched the young man’s shoulders sag, hands twitch, head dip forward. Ah, the peace of the moment was lost to the doctor. Garak should have felt relieved. It could mean that the dear doctor would take their sudden imprisonment in the make-shift infirmary more seriously. But Garak realized that he didn’t need that. He needed the optimism, the innocence, the Federation calmness Julian toted around like a badge of honor. His dear doctor was right, there was no way for them to escape until the power returned. There was only the two of them in a dark room where the temperature was slowly dipping. He shivered again.

“Doctor.”

“Hm?”

“If we aren’t going to attempt to leave this room, perhaps you would be willing to venture closer,” Garak said. Julian turned and looked at him. Then he walked over. Garak sat in one of the larger chairs in the space and Julian joined him, his body falling to his lap with a grace the stars could never mirror. Their arms wrapped around reach other and Garak pulled him as close as possible.

“How long do you suppose the repairs will take?” Garak asked.

“It’s hard to say. Hopefully no more than an hour. There are blankets in here, but I’m not sure they’d stave off the cold that long.”

Silence. Garak fiddled with the hem of Julian uniform jacket. The fabric was thick and no doubt retained heat as well as his customized outfit. He could feel the heat through the fabric that danced along Julian’s skin naturally. He would have loved to dance his fingers over the tanned flesh, nails dragging, just to see the man squirm and huff irritably through his impatience. But the dipping cold demanded clothes. Garak would have never pulled any off to see the dear man’s natural charms.

“Garak, have we ever sat like this before?” Julian asked. He no doubt already knew the answer, but Garak decided to play along, if only to pull his mind away from his steadily erotic thoughts.

“No, I don’t believe so.”

There was a pause. “We should do this again. When the power isn’t out on the ship, I mean. It’s nice. You’re nice.”

“There is nothing nice about me, my dear.”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? Perhaps I should show you how mean I can be, then.”

Garak leaned forward and started pressing kisses against the man’s exposed neck.

“Garak, we can’t take our clothes off in here. It’s too cold.”

“Oh, I’m quite aware,” Garak answered before he took a nibble at Julian’s jaw, “But you mistook me for someone who wouldn’t take advantage of this precarious position of yours. Whatever will you do if I were to get you aroused in such a bitterly cold environment.”

“You  _monster_.” A teasing lilt graced Julian’s voice. Garak smiled against his neck.


	93. Beyond Scales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Warnings for imprisonment, auctioning of living creatures.
> 
> Prompt: Garashir, a pirate falls in love with a mer-person. (From a prompt list on Tumblr.) [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/164312142008/pirate-prompt-4-with-garashir-please-i-need-more)]

It put up a fight when the men were putting it in the tank.

Garak couldn’t say he wasn’t impressed. Especially after the mostly teal tail fin landed with a graceful _thwap_ across one of his men’s faces and sent him sprawling to the ground. But it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t have been. The netting was too tight. It’s arms had no freedom. The merfolk didn’t have legs. So it was sent tumbling into the small tank, sealed away from the sea, ready to be sold to the highest bidder at Tain’s auction house on Cardassia’s mainland. A pity.

They had a two day journey back to the mainland. Garak intended to spend most of it with their prize. Though this men seemed loyal on the surface, he knew they couldn’t be trusted with a merfolk. Too many of them had fallen in love with prizes in the past. It wasn’t worth the risk.

The first few hours, though, Garak cataloged the capture and the fight, then wrote down the specifications the teal tailed delight. Male, tan, brown eyes, black hair, slender, fierce, would likely escape if given the chance. Then he placed the notebook aside, stretched, and ventured to the holding room the tank was in. Inside the room, he heard voices. One was loud. It belonged to one of his men.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” the man asked, “Quoting books that don’t even belong to your people. I bet your people don’t even have books. That’s why you’re all getting caught and being sold off.”

Another man chuckled. Garak stepped in. The two men looked at him, sneers across their faces.

“Careful with this one, Cap’n,” the man from before said, “It  _reads_.”

The other man laughed. Then the two of them left, their laughs echoing throughout the ship. Garak had no doubt that they would share the story with their other crew mates. And they would likely find the idea funny as well. Garak didn’t hire them because they were intelligent.

Inside the tank, the merfolk swam close to the glass. His hands remained at his sides though. That powerful fin did all the work. It was clear that even in that glass prison, the merfolk had no interest in going to Cardassia without a fight, verbal or otherwise. Garak could see it in the young thing’s burning glare and tense upper body. Garak fought back his own toying smile.

“I didn’t know merfolks could read,” Garak said simply enough.

“We all read,” the thing answered, “Most just don’t read the works of walkers.”

“But you do.”

It looked like it wanted to respond, but he bit back whatever answer came to mind. Restraint. For a moment, Garak wasn’t sure it knew what that was. He suspected that if it hated the work, it would’ve just said so. There’s no point in hiding such vileness from the walkers who captured it, after all. Perhaps it liked it and didn’t want to admit it. Garak thought to push the issue, but nothing could be gained of it.

“I trust you know what’s in store for you,” Garak said. There was a pause. The thing blinked rapidly a few times, but it’s eyes never turned away. “I suggest that whatever aggression you have remaining you alleviate in the next two days. If others at the auction house find you too unmanageable, I’m afraid they’ll be left with no other option than to hold you in captivity for a prolonged amount of time.”

“I’d be part of a private collection, then. A collection of ill-fit merfolk. Is it your collection? Your band of misfits?”

“Oh, hardly. I have no interest in collectibles.”

“Yet you collect my kind. You throw us in your ships and take us to your lands to sell us off.”

“It’s merely a career choice.”

“A career choice that’s taken hundreds of us!”

“It’s a very lucrative choice, so it seems.”

It sighed and turned away from him. On it’s back was a scar. A large one at that. It spread across his back from his right shoulder to between his shoulder blades. It was a few years old at least, if merfolk healed in a similar way to Cardassians, at least. Garak ventured closer.

“Wherever did you get that scar?”

Eyes glared at him again.

“Does it make me less valuable?” Venom coated it’s words.

“Not at all.”

The thing’s eyes stuck with him for a moment. Then it sighed. It’s head dipped down.

“I was protecting one of my kind from capture a few years ago. I got stabbed. We both managed to escape, thankfully, but I got this scar as a result.”

A harpoon, likely. Dukat’s doing. Garak took care to make sure the merfolk his crew grabbed remained uninjured. Others did the same. But Dukat gave no care for the physical well-being of his catches. They suffered as a result, many to maimed to sell. Those still remained in captivity, away from the sun, to live out their days with the others that were cursed with such cruelty. Garak set aside his emotions many times when capturing his own, but Dukat’s captures always wrenched at his heart. Though he never dared tell his father, the leader of the auction house, that truth. He’d never be free himself, and that was a worse fate that what the merfolk had to endure.

“Have you protected others since that fateful incident?” Garak asked.

“Why do you care?” No gaze met him this time.

“I was simply curious. You don’t have to respond if you don’t wish to.”

Silence answered him. That was enough of that. Garak waited a moment longer before he stepped away from the tank again. He settled himself in a small chair near the door, pulled out one of his Cardassian enigma tales, and began to read. He didn’t need to keep an eye on the thing. It wasn’t like the merfolk was going anywhere any time soon.

An hour passed. He heard the creature swim around, stop, grunt, push on the glass, pound on it, stop, and then sigh. Garak paid no mind. There was at least thirty minutes of silence before the merfolk made noise again.

“I wasn’t strong enough to protect merfolk from capture,” it said. Garak looked. The merfolk had pressed itself against the backside of the tank, under the beams of the sun. It was sitting, it’s black hair appearing a dark brown under the glow of the light. It’s eyes were down, looking at the multicolored scales that shimmered under the glows of the sun. Garak closed his book. “I became a healer instead. There’s a lot of dangerous for us beyond walkers so I thought I’d be more useful that way anyway.”

“But you came to the surface today.”

“I was told there was someone injured close to the surface. It was dangerous but I had to look.”

“Was there?”

The merfolk glared. “Not anymore.”

“We don’t make the habit of capturing two of you at once. It wouldn’t matter if that merfolk remained there or not.”

“Then why ask?”

“Curiosity.”

“You didn’t ask my name out of curiosity.”

“Your name is not important.”

“It’s Julian. Julian Subatoi Bashir.”

Garak managed to hold back a wince. He made it a habit not to learn the names of the merfolk they captured. It made it too personal. But he opened the window with trivial talk and now he learned too much. He thought to back down then, to open his enigma tales and ignore the merfolk sitting in that tank, but it would be too obvious then. The merfolk, this Julian, would try to break through. It wouldn’t succeed, it would simply be an annoyance that Garak didn’t want to deal with.

“I’m afraid your name still isn’t an important factor.”

“Maybe not, but it’s still my name. Do you have one or do you think that your name isn’t important either?”

Garak paused. Admittedly, this merfolk was much smarter than anyone Garak employed. His mind twisted in ways his simple thought men couldn’t manage. He was beyond well-read. And Garak was intrigued. He knew he shouldn’t engage, but Garak was too interested in a verbal spar. He set the book on his lap.

“Garak.”

“Just Garak?” the merfolk asked.

“Just plain, simple Garak.”

“I thought walkers had more than one name.”

“Many do, yes. I’m afraid I’m not one of them.”

“Or you don’t want to share your other names with me.”

“Perhaps that’s the case, though I’m afraid you’ll never know the truth to that.”

“Because it’s not important?”

Garak smiled. They exchanged words then. It was the verbal spar that Garak was expecting. They went back and forth on merfolk culture, walker culture, the different walker races, walker books, Cardassia, war, death, life, until the sun dipped and blackness sealed the glimmers of the merfolks scales away. Garak took to calling it “Healer” throughout the conversation. He had hoped the merfolk would take the hint, but it continuously called him “Garak”. A personal touch that Garak edged towards a pitiful attempt at connection. Perhaps the entire conversation was. But the connection was never made and it was clear the merfolk was getting drained. It was dark, after all, and likely beyond when his kind was meant to be asleep.

Garak stood, his book in hand.

“I trust you’ll behave for my guard this evening.”

“You trust me?” it asked. Hope was there.

“It’s a figure of speech,” Garak answered. The hope wasn’t squashed away. It would be once the dumped the thing off at the auction house. Garak’s heart twinged. He ignored it. “You should get some rest. I’m afraid this will be the easiest time for you to do so.”

Garak opened the door.

“Thank you.”

Garak paused. He wanted to question what the thanks was for. Curiosity. Instead, he stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. Silence followed. He met the night shift men on the deck of the ship. Two of them went to guard the tank. Garak returned to his quarters and laid in bed. His thoughts remained on that teal tailed prize. On it. On him.

When Garak woke in the morning, he thought to spend the day away from Julian. It was for the best. He was to be given to Tain the next day and any conversation would hardly be worthwhile for either of them. But the conversations from the day before cycled through his head. The dear merfolk was intelligent in ways even his own kind couldn’t keep up with. Such a learned being. Were merfolks all this way or was it simply this one? Garak thought to never answer that question.

Then there was a yell below deck around mid-morning. Garak walked down there with a little more speed than usual. The door to the tank room was open. Water was strewn throughout the floor. Garak appeared in the doorway.

One of his men was in the tank. His head was above water. The rest of his body was beneath. A thick, firm hand was wrapped around the merfolks throat. Though Julian struggled with hands and fin, he couldn’t wrench himself free. He wasn’t strong enough. Two other men stood outside the tank. The one closest to it was clearly rooting on the violence. The other, who remained near the door, was uncertain.

“What is going on?” Garak asked.

“It insulted me!” the man in the tank yelled, “Called me an inbred naked bulldog!”

Garak hid a smile.

“Perhaps he did, but I believe we’ve discussed the penalty for harming our catches before.”

The man in the take froze. His hand eased. Julian coughed and swam to the bottom of the tank, hand grasping his throat, his face towards the wall. Garak took care not to stare at him. His eyes remained on the crewman who climbed out of the tank.

“But, Captain, he–”

“He insulted you, yes, I’m quite aware. But he spent most of the day yesterday insulting me and I left him without a scratch. You need thicker skin, and I expect you to grow it. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Now, you will go above deck and begin your punishment. The two of you will join him for half of it. If I speak with the first-mate and he explains to me that you haven’t started, I will leave the punishment to Tain when we arrive on Cardassia. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir!”

They all ran out of the room. Garak watched them leave. Then he closed the door and approached the tank. Julian was seated at the bottom of it, one hand rubbing his throat, the other idle on the top half of his fin.

“Are you hurt?” Garak asked.

Julian glared up at him, then passed him. The empty room seemed to ease him, though. His shoulders sagged some.

“No.” His voice seemed hoarse.

“May I see?”

Julian blinked at him. The glare dissipated. Then he swam up to him and lowered his hand. There was a red mark there, no doubt from his man’s strong grasp. It might bruise. That would stop nothing though. He would still sell easily enough.

“Does it lessen my value?” The bitterness returned again. It seemed more poignant against that hoarse tone his voice carried. Garak moved away from the tank, towards the wall where small, enclosed food containers sat. Garak opened one. Five kelp-wrapped fish lay inside surrounded by ocean water - something he was told merfolk liked. He took two from the case and closed it again.

“It’s doubtful,” Garak said, “Here.”

Garak dropped the two fish inside. Julian caught them and examined them with a frown.

“Why are you giving these to me?” Julian asked, “Are they poisoned?”

“Not at all,” Garak answered, “I believe my crewman’s response to your rather forward insult was punishment enough. It simply occurred to me that you haven’t eaten since your capture. A change was in order. Unless you prefer not to eat.”

Julian remained quiet. He picked off part of the kelp of one and examined the fish inside. Garak picked up on the faintest growl of the merfolk’s stomach. He, again, repressed a smile. He walked away from the tank instead and looked out the window towards Cardassia, which still wasn’t in view.

“What happens to merfolk who get auctioned off?” Julian asked.

“It depends on who wins your auction,” Garak answered, “Some collectors keep their wins in tanks like yours. Others make enclosures with deeper tanks with houses and gradual plateaus. In either case, your fate is the same. People will come and stare at you. Admire you. You’ll be a piece of art.”

Silence responded to him. Garak gave it a minute before he looked back at the tank. The fish he’d given to Julian were on the floor on the side nearest Garak. Julian sat on the other, face towards the wall, silent, stoic.

That’s how Julian remained for hours. Garak started reading his enigma tales again, but he couldn’t focus on the words. He’d rather have had the conversation, the blissful but heated back and forth they shared the day before. But it would never happen again. And Garak knew that meant he would never have such a conversation again. Few tried to have conversations with Garak. Fewer still tried in intellectual ones. Fear usually permeated every conversation he had with another Cardassian. Fear of Tain, not of himself. Julian showed none of that fear. He likely never would.

Garak thought to buy him. But Tain would never allow that. And Garak doubted he could convince anyone else to cross Tain for such a matter. No, Julian would be sold off to the highest bidder and sulk in silence, his intelligence and enthusiasm sealed away with that quiet. How many others had been cursed to a similar fate? And would Garak’s betrayal of Tain really be worse than such a fate?

He mulled it over until the sun dipped again. The stars were clear that night. The ship was anchored. The first-mate came. The punishment for the crewmen were over. They rested, as did others. The night shift began. Garak sent him away, grabbed two guards, stationed them in the tank room, and fled to his quarters. He hoped the space away from Julian would instill doubt in his treasonous thoughts, but there was no such luck. They were there now, ever present. They ran with questions of Tain, of loyalty, of memories of torment and pain, of serious consideration of repercussions. Then, a choice. He made a choice.

Garak packed a bag with what little he held dear - trinkets and odds and ends, mostly - before he grabbed his sword and pistol. It was loud. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. He placed the bag on the deck near the tank hallway then walked to the tank room. He spoke with the guards, told them of his inability to sleep, then beat one over the head. He fell. The other charged. Garak stabbed him in the stomach. The man collapsed, dead. He stabbed the other while he was unconscious. He died too. A pity.

Garak entered the tank room. The fish were still untouched. Julian lay in the corner of the tank. Garak tapped on the glass. Julian stirred but didn’t look.

“Healer, if you wish to escape this confinement, this will be your only time.”

That got his attention. Julian’s head jerked around. He blinked, frowned, glared uncertainly in his direction.

“Garak, you’re not serious.”

“I am. Swim to the top of the tank. Quietly.”

Julian did so. Garak unfastened the top and helped Julian out. He carried the merfolk through the hall, grabbed the bag he’d left, walked to the lifeboat, and placed the back and Julian inside.

“You’re not–” Julian started. Garak hushed him and climbed in. He lowered the boat, detached it from the ship, and rowed it away. He pulled the small boat around the blind spot of the ship and rowed far. Far from the ship, far from Cardassia, far from home. He could never return. Tain would have his head. For a moment, a panic came over him that his brash choice would hardly be worth it. But then there was Julian. There was the growing enthusiasm, the wonder.

“Will you be able to make it back home in the dark?” Garak asked.

“It’s not safe,” Julian answered, “I don’t have a weapon.”

“You may take my sword, if you wish.”

“What about you?”

“I have other weapons I can use.”

“And Cardassia?”

“It’s not a place for me anymore. Here.” Garak handed over his sword and the small book of enigma tales. “I can take you further if you wish. I must travel further anyway. I’m afraid staying in the ocean won’t be safe for me.”

“I can guide you to an island not far from here,” Julian said. There was a delighted spark to his voice that Garak hadn’t caught before. “If I tell the locals you saved me, they’ll keep you hidden.”

“They’re walkers then?”

“Bajorans.”

“I’m afraid it may not be quite so simple. Bajorans and Cardassians have had a feud for many centuries which resulted in the capture and death of many of their people. They may not be so willing to harbor me.”

“Maybe if you agree to help other merfolk in the future, they’ll let you stay.”

Garak frowned. Julian, however, did not.

“It won’t hurt to ask, right?” Julian asked.

After a moment, Garak answered, “No, I suppose it won’t.” After all, the only thing left for him to lose was the teal tailed conversationalist beaming like the sun in his boat.


	94. A Shadow In The Ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, mentions of Benjamin Sisko and Jake Sisko (the latter not by name)
> 
> Warnings for drowning scene and restraints.
> 
> Prompt: Garashir, A pirate falls in love with a mer-person with Garak as the merman. [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/164346171498/either-a-pirate-falls-in-love-with-a-mer-person)]

“Throw ‘im overboard!”

Cheers echoed across the deck. Julian’s breath caught in his throat. No. They were leagues away from any shore. His hands were tied behind him. He’d never survive. He’d struggle and call for help and then drown, never to be seen again. The surge of fear pulled him form the grasping hands of crew mates - former crew mates, as it was developing - but his panicked pulls weren’t enough. There were too many hands. They grabbed and pushed him to the deck railing. An small metal weight was attached to his bindings. His eyes caught the captain’s on the upper deck. He pleaded in silence. The captain turned away. And Julian was thrown over the railing. He heard the cheers and laughter of men up until he hit the ocean.

Salt water filled his nose, his mouth, his ears. His eyes stung. He clenched them tight. He pulled at the bonds that held his arms. The ropes burned. His fingers throbbed. His legs kicked. He broke the surface. The cheers were still there. He caught a breath, but only one, before the wake of his old ship, his old home, pushed him under again. He tried to break the surface again and again, but each attempted was thwarted by the wakes and waves of the accursed ocean.

He’d only bandaged the wounds of a rebel pirate’s young son. Did he really deserve this?

His legs lost their power. He dipped deeper into the darkening depths. Julian forced his legs to kick again and again, but to no avail. Without his arms and with that weight, the struggle was useless. He pulled at the binds again and again, but each attempt was slower. His lungs burned. His mouth opened. Bubbles rose from his mouth and broke the surface. He didn’t. He sank with the weight tied to his bindings. He opened his eyes. The sun glistened through the surface. It called to him. He couldn’t answer. He could only drift further down and wait for the world to fade. And it did.

Julian coughed. Water spurted from his mouth. He was pushed to his side. His lungs heaved out the cold depths they’d been forced to collect. Snot and bile nearly exited with it. Then he gasped. Air. Oh thank god, air. Julian treasured each breath as they pushed into his system and livened everything he thought he lost.

He shivered. Death was still with him, clinging desperately to keep him, but each tremor shooed the phantom away. As he regained himself, Julian opened his eyes.

He was on a shoreline. Even from his lying position, he could still tell that he was on an island. The sand beneath him didn’t stretch far. There was little shade offered - only a few trees bent towards the ocean in different directions as if they were torn on which way to go. 

“Someone will be here for you tomorrow,” a voice said. Then there was a splash. Julian forced his body to push him up and he turned his head. There was no one. Only a shadow in the ocean that pushed away from the shore and disappeared from sight before Julian could fully register what it was. He waited a moment for the shadow to reappear, but it never did. He sagged and flopped onto the shore, grateful none the less.

Julian laid on the shore for a while. He wasn’t sure how long. But the sun was still glaring at him when he scraped himself off the sand and ventured into the grass and trees. Priorities. He needed food and shelter. Fire would also be nice. He could use it to dry his clothes. Maybe even cook fish, if he had the opportunity. And assuming it didn’t rain on his tiny little island, he could even stay warm throughout the night. It was nice enough, but the night might not be so forgiving.

Julian checked his pockets. In his vest pockets, buttoned away was the flint and steel he used to light his reading lantern on the ship. They were wet, yes, but Julian was sure they could still spark. He pulled leaves and grass off the nearby trees and piled them together in a small ring of rocks he collected on the sand. After a few attempts, he did manage a spark. A few more and he actually got the greens to light. It took a while to build the fire, but once he did, it warmed his shivering body. He stripped, laid his clothes near the fire, and waited. Once they were dry enough, Julian put his pants back on. He left the rest of it off so it could fully dry before the night settled in.

His search for food yielded no results. There wasn’t much for shelter either. He was going to be stuck toughing out the night with nothing but a fire. He hoped that was enough.

Once the sun dipped and a chilly night wind started to creep in, he put on the rest of his clothes. They were dry but hardly warm. He shivered, sat next to the fire, prodded it to keep the orange and yellow flickers alive, and then stared at the flames. The crackles of the fire mixed with the nearby ocean waves eased his tired bones. His stomach grumbled but it was easy to ignore. He closed his eyes and listened. For a moment, just one, he was almost lulled into a peaceful sleep.

A flop near him jarred him away. Julian looked. A large fish lay dead near him, fresh, unassuming. A splash came. Julian jerked to his feet. The shadow. It was there.

“Wait!” Julian called. He waited. He expected nothing. Yet something rose from the water. Julian squinted but he couldn’t quite make out what it was in the darkness. He licked his dry lips.

“What are you?”

It didn’t respond. After a moment, it retreated into the ocean and disappeared. Julian hoped it would return, but it never did.

Julian picked up the fish. It looked like it was hunted - a hole was clear in it’s right side - and seemed like something Julian could eat. He looked out once again before he took the fish back to the fire. He skewered the fish on the stick he was using to prod the fire and then cooked it. He watched the scales turn black. Then he ate. It was bland, but his stomach didn’t care. Neither did he. He ate until most of the fish was gone. He wrapped the rest in a leaf, placed it on the sand, and shielded it with a rock. Then he prodded the fire once more. He longed for water, but he couldn’t drink from the ocean. It wouldn’t help. So, he settled for sitting, for watching the flames flick towards the stars. He wondered about them, about the sky, about life. Then his eyes closed. He watched the glow of the fire through his eyelids. Then he fell asleep.

When he woke, the fire was still going. The sun was bright enough to light the island, but Julian fed the flames anyway. It wasn’t enough to stave off his thirst. Although he hoped the ocean shadow’s words were true, that help was indeed coming, he couldn’t be sure. Maybe there was a source of water on the island. Maybe there was some in the leaves, in the tree trunks, in something. He hoped so as he scraped himself off the sand and stretched his sore muscles awake.

He searched the small island. The ground, the leaves, and the grass bore no water. He would have checked the trunk, but he had no knife. Only the flint and steel that was tucked away in his chest pocket and the steel wasn’t sharp enough to cut into the trunk. He didn’t want to give up the search, but he doubted there was little hope. He fed the flames again. He watched them soar. Then he ducked under one of the bent trees and hoped the shade would keep him from getting sunburned.

Something breached the water near his fire. Julian watched from his distant spot as a bipedal figure rose and walked onto the shore, away from the fire, towards him. Gray scales covered it seemingly from head-to-toe. Fabric covered parts of it’s body though. It held snug on his body and clung to him in such an inhuman way. Julian almost thought it was skin, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

“I’m afraid your transport won’t arrive until tomorrow morning,” the creature said in such a human voice that Julian was shocked, “My apologies.”

“I…”

That was all that managed to come out of Julian’s mouth. He was too stunned to say anything else. The creature stopped next to him for a moment, paused, then smiled.

“You have heard stories of merfolk, have you not?” it asked.

“Only a few but…” Julian voice drifted away. The creature waved it away with his only free hand. Julian only then realized the thing carried something to him. Something wrapped in the same fabric he was wearing.

“You never imagined one would look like me, yes? Perhaps a lesson is in order, then. I’m a Cardassian. Surely you’ve heard of us.”

“You’re killers,” Julian whispered, “The Bajorans–”

“Yes, the Bajorans. I’m quite aware of what they have to say about my kind, and I will tell you that any of the stories they choose to pass on to you humans are very likely true. We did kill many of their kind in a war. But I’m not here to provide you with a history lesson. I came to deliver this package to you.”

The creature reached the cloth covered mystery out to him. Julian stared at it for a moment, but didn’t take it. He couldn’t. What if it was a trap? The Cardassians could be cunning, after all. At least from what he heard. He couldn’t be trusted. Unless it was the same one that saved his life. The creature sighed.

“I’m aware this looks suspicious, but if I wanted you dead, I would have let you drown yesterday.”

“You are the one who saved me.”

“Yes, quite. Now if you don’t wish to take this package, I can leave with it, though I’m certain you could use the water inside more than I.”

Water. Julian reached for the fabric immediately. He grabbed it, fumbled with the knot, and found a few things inside. The first was a metal flask. He opened it. Water. Clear, salt-free water. He drank half of it immediately. He pulled the metal from his lips, sighed, and leaned his head back on the tree.

“Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, though the water and the package weren’t my doing. They were a ‘thank you’ extended from the captain of the ship that will be arriving in the morning.”

Julian looked up at the creature, eyes narrowed.

“A ‘thank you’ for what?”

“For helping his son. The youth was quite adamant that you were the one that aided him the day you were thrown off that rather abhorrent ship. He even identified you from your wanted poster, Mr. Bashir. Was that not you?”

“No, it was,” Julian answered. He looked down at the open fabric again. There was another flask. Julian hoped it was full of water too. There was also two oranges and some blank sheets of loose paper. All of the items were dry, untouched by the cool ocean depths. He looked up at the creature again. “Is that why you saved me?”

“Yes. Captain Sisko believed that your actions may lead to danger, so he insisted that I follow your ship to ensure your safety.”

“You’re part of his crew?”

“No. I merely act for him in trade. I provide him with services such as saving your life and delivering this package to you, and he provides me with goods in exchange.”

“What kind of goods?”

“I’m afraid that’s a private matter, Mr. Bashir.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” Julian looked at the package again, then up at the creature. “What’s your name?”

“I go by many, but you may call me Garak, if you wish.”

“Garak? Nothing else?”

“No. Just plain, simple Garak.”

Julian nodded. Garak. He could remember that. He looked out to the ocean again, then back towards the creature, towards Garak. He almost looked like he glistened in the sun. Julian wondered how smooth his scales were, if he was warm to the touch or cool, if he had family or friends, what he did in his spare time, what motivated him, what made him pick this odd line of work despite the riches the Cardassian race supposedly had. Julian wanted to know. 

“I know this likely wasn’t part of your agreement with Captain Sisko, but would you mind staying and talking with me for a while? You don’t have to and I’d hate to be a burden, it’s just–”

“You want the company,” Garak finished. Julian nodded. There was a pause. A consideration. “I suppose I could use a little break. Though, I would much rather spend it in the waters. You can stay on the shore if you wish.”

Garak turned to the ocean. Julian rummaged the package together and followed him. He remained on the shore while Garak walked back in and circled around, finding a deep sport near the shoreline where they could speak with only the Cardassian’s head peaking through. They spoke for minutes, which turned to hours. Their conversations were jarring at first, but steadily morphed into a lengthy discussion about books and society and culture. They disagreed, but not enough to warrant an immediate end to their conversation. Soon, their conversation went on longer than the daylight. Night seeped in. The stars rose. Julian shivered under the cool breeze, but he longed to continue their little conversation. His physical discomfort, though, was too obvious.

“Perhaps it’s time for our little exchange to end,” Garak said. Julian frowned. Garak batted a smile his way. “I’ve enjoyed this exchange, Mr. Bashir. Perhaps we can have one another time.”

Julian smiled. “I’d like that.”

“As would I. Now, would you like another fish to eat this evening or do you believe the food provided to you will suffice?”

“I’d hate to burden you more.”

“Very well. Then I’ll leave you for the evening. Take care, Mr. Bashir.”

“Goodbye Garak.”

In a flash, the Cardassian was gone. Julian waited for a moment before he stood and stretched. His back popped. He didn’t mind. He strolled over to the fire, coaxed it alive, threw a few of the loose paper sheets into it, poked it more, and then settled next to it. His thoughts went to Garak, to the way his blue eyes examined him, the way they wandered over his face, the sound of his voice, the quirk of his lips when he was amused. Julian was pulled to the unusual, yes, but that Cardassian was more than just a sea dwelling oddity. He was handsome, in a way. He smiled, then pulled an orange out of the package.

A second later, something flopped on the sand next to him. Julian looked. It was a fish. Smaller than the last night’s, but somehow more welcome. Julian smiled and picked up immediately. He wondered if there was anyway he could ever pay Garak back for his extended kindness.


	95. The More Things Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak
> 
> Post series. Sad emotions.
> 
> Prompt: at the end of the Dominion war Cardassia Prime was destroyed. Garak is devastated, and Julian comforts him [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/164349917628/how-about-at-the-end-of-the-dominion-war-cardassia)]

Julian sat in the infirmary alone.

One of his hands circled around the handle of a navy mug, which was half filled with lukewarm Tarkalean tea. The other was settled on the keyboard of the central console. Only his thumb on the keyboard moved. It pressed down on a single key, which let him thumb through the research that was gathered on the surface of Bajor. More plants, more hope for new medicines, but no luck. He focused on the research regardless. On heavier pages filled with words and formulas and considerations, Julian’s hand rose from the command board and his fingertips brushed against the stubble growing on his face. His beard was growing in again. He planned on keeping it this time, even if the two or three strands of white that poked through aged him some. He was experienced. Arguably one of the most experienced officers on the station now. He earned those hairs and his aged look.

Julian’s hand fell to the keyboard again, flipped to the next page, and then returned to his face to stroke those little strands of hair on his chin. A new plant, a flower, up on the mountains of one of the smaller peaks. It’s growth was attributed to the pollination of new life introduced by the Federation. The formula of the flower showed nothing remarkable but there was characteristics similar to aloe. Perhaps it could be used to–

“I see your boyish charm is nearly gone now, Doctor.”

The familiar voice grated against his mind. Julian jerked his head, his eyes, his whole body, towards the opening of the infirmary and nearly spilled Tarkalean tea on the computer console. There, in the opening, was Garak.

Garak, too, looked aged. He held a neutral expression that was familiar but somewhat detached from the station life. Maybe it wasn’t the expression. Maybe it was the grown out, ratted hair and the dirt tinged scales that kept the expression from being fully familiar.

“Garak,” Julian whispered. He blinked twice, then set his mug down near the console and stood. “What are you doing here?”

“Such a question is better answered in private, Doctor. If you’re too busy for such matters at the moment, I’m quite certain I could–”

“I have time,” Julian rushed to answer, “I just need a few minutes to shut down the infirmary. Can you wait that long?”

“Of course.”

Julian smiled softly. Garak offered none in return. Then Julian put the remainder of his tea in the replicator, sent it away, and then shut down all of the equipment in the infirmary. No one was staying there overnight and given the peace that settled after the Dominion War, Julian doubted anyone would pay the infirmary a visit either.

“How are you and Lieutenant Dax doing, Doctor?”

“Fine. We’re just friends now,” Julian said as he input his password into the console to lock it.

“Simply friends? Was that a mutual arrangement?”

“Yes. She wanted to leave the station to continue her work elsewhere. We talked it out and agreed that it would be best if we just remained friends. We’re still talking.”

The console locked. The security system was up. The lights dimmed. Julian moved to Garak and they headed to the turbolift.

“Is there another you’ve decided to share affections with?” Garak asked.

“No,” Julian said. He bit back a sigh. “I haven’t tried.”

“Really? How odd. You were quite the ladies’ man when I left. Perhaps you’ve aged far more than your facial hair has let on.”

Julian scoffed. They made it to the turbolift. “Habitat ring,” Julian said. The lift started. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it just doesn’t feel right. There’s been too much change.”

Garak hummed. Silence. An odd silence. Julian wanted to ask questions, but the silence of the lift didn’t seem like enough to get the Cardassian talking. When the doors opened, Julian led the way to his quarters. He was sure Garak knew the way - his quarters hadn’t moved since he left - but it felt more natural to lead than to be led. Julian approached his room. The door opened for him. Julian motioned for Garak to walk in first, and he did so without hesitation. Julian followed him in. The door shut behind him.

“It’s nice to see that something has not changed since my departure,” Garak said.

“I didn’t see any reason to change things,” Julian answered. He watched Garak gravitate slowly to the couch. It was almost like the man was being dragged there, or held back by an invisible force Julian couldn’t even feel. Garak did finally manage to sit, but the blue eyes wouldn’t meet him. They only stared at the floor. Julian licked his lips.

“I’m sure you didn’t come here just to see if I’d improved the decorations,” Julian said. An invitation. Julian hoped it was enough. But Garak remained quiet. Julian tensed. “Don’t get me wrong, Garak, I’m happy to see you, it’s just that you haven’t been talking and I thought–”

“Cardassia Prime cannot be saved.”

Garak didn’t look up. He didn’t have to. Julian could hear the devastation coat each and every word. Julian’s breath caught. His quiet made him catch the uneven inhale that Garak produced.

“We had attempted,” Garak continued, “But crops were unable to grow. Without food and outside connections, we were unable to sustain ourselves. Cardassians began leaving one-by-one. I was the last to leave. Cardassia Prime is now completely uninhabited. My people are scattered. There’s nothing… there’s no one…”

Each word tipped Garak closer and closer to breaking. Julian knew then why he’d come. Of all the people in the quadrant and the universe, Julian was all Garak had left. There was nothing left on Cardassia Prime for him, and no Cardassians to leave the planet with. He was reaching. And Julian reached back. He stepped forward, sat next to Garak on the couch, and rested his hand on Garak’s forearm. He could feel the dirt and sand of Cardassian Prime against his fingers, the last fragments of Garak’s home world. Julian ran his thumb against it, over the fabric, over Garak’s arm.

“You can stay with me as long as you’d like,” Julian said, “Or, if you’d rather, we can talk with Kira and see if you can get–”

Garak lunged towards him. Julian tensed. Arms circled around him, pulled him in. Arid smells ruminated off the Cardassian’s body. It was foreign. Just as foreign as the sob that cut through the shocked silence. Garak trembled, clutched, and buried his head into Julian’s shoulder. Julian wrapped his arms around him and rubbed his right hand against Garak’s back. He wanted to say it would be okay. He wanted to tell him that he’d be fine on the station. He wanted to share something, anything. But Julian remained silent. He offered his body heat, his physical comfort, his warmth. And Garak took it with the most honest heartbreak he ever shared. It was only after the sobs quieted that Julian finally spoke.

“I can’t promise it’ll be easy, but I’ll do whatever I can to help you, Garak.”

At first, silence answered him. Then Garak eased away. His eyes still didn’t meet Julian’s.

“I don’t know what I need, Doctor.”

“That’s okay. You don’t need to know. We’ll figure it out together, whatever it is.” Julian offered a soft smile but Garak didn’t see it. “For now, why don’t you start with a shower. I can replicate some clothes for you and then you can get some sleep. You can sleep in my bed if you’d like.”

“If it’s not too forward,” Garak said. He paused. “Perhaps we could share your bed this evening.”

“If you want to.”

Garak said nothing. After a second, he scraped himself off the couch and headed to the bathroom. Julian watched him go before he went to the replicator. He made the clothes - comfortable, warm pieces - and placed them outside the bathroom. Then he stayed in the living room area, away from the bathroom door. It wasn’t until he heard Garak change into the clothes that Julian entered. Garak was in bed already. His eyes weren’t closed, but he didn’t stare at Julian. Only at the wall. Or perhaps at nothing.

Julian grabbed pajamas, changed in the bathroom, and looked himself in the mirror. He thought to shave, to clean his face of the age he allowed to collect. But he thought better of it. He walked back into the bedroom and crawled into bed next to Garak. He covered the Cardassian completely.

“Computer, turn off the lights.”

The room went black. Julian could hear Garak breathe. Then he heard the rustle of fabric, felt Garak close in, felt arms around him again. A nose tipped into his hair. A breath exhaled on his forehead. Julian returned the embrace.

“You’re far too kind to me, Doctor,” Garak whispered.

“Not kind enough,” Julian answered. Garak huffed.

“Perhaps you’ve changed far less than I first believed.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I don’t believe so.”

Silence settled. Julian listened to Garak’s breaths get steadily deeper until they produced a calm, sleeping rhythm. A younger version of Julian would have smiled, would have gladly accepted Garak’s sleepiness as a growth in their bond, would have enthusiastically grasped at a relationship between the two of them. He’d likely have that relationship now. He wasn’t sure the price was worth it.


	96. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> Established Garashir. Warnings for nightmares, claustrophobia.
> 
> Prompt: Garak, claustrophobia, "it's too late" [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/164404205398/garak-claustrophobia-its-too-late)]

Dirt coated his mouth, his hair, his scales. His nails dug into the ground. He pulled, reached, dug, pulled, reached, trembled. The light. The glow of the sun. It shone beyond the mouth of the cave, spread across the mountains, dipped into the valleys that once skittered with so much light. It was him. It was  _him_.

The cave walls rattled. Small rocks fell. No. Then an avalanche.  _No_. Then, then!

Darkness.

His heart wrenched. His fingers dug, pulled, reached, dug, pulled, reached, reached,  _reached_ , trembled, fell. Ragged breaths escaped him. Ragged, choked, whiny breaths that echoed off the rocks, the walls, the black, that black, the only thing that remained now of the place he longed to return, the place he once called home. The sun burned, rose, set, cycled, and yet… yet…

It was too late.

Garak screamed.

The dirt beneath him flew away and speckled against the black. Drifted. Stopped. Froze. Lightened. The rocks sank back, smoothed, evened. It was quick, sudden, but seemed slow. Garak knew though that they hadn’t changed. In the same way that the dirt hadn’t become the stars that stretched across the view painted in front of him. His heart rattled against the fear that remained, though. It was the only thing that did. Even his scream was silenced against the fabrics of reality.

Something stirred. It wasn’t himself. Garak looked down. He lay on his left side and a figure pressed into his chest. It was dark, though not choking of it. He could make out the raven hairs and tanned skin, the slender figure with the soft belly, the lanky limbs covered in a thin layer of cooled silk. It took no less heat away from that natural light that curled against Garak’s chest. No, his dear Julian Bashir was as warm asleep as he was awake, alert, alive.

Garak kissed the crown of the man’s head. His light came closer, nose brushed twice against the fabric of Garak’s shirt, then stilled. Sleep induced breaths continued. There was silence once more.

Garak looked to the stars. He couldn’t see the Cardassian sun from the window in Julian’s quarters. For the first time since he arrived on the station, he wasn’t sure he cared. There was nothing the sun could offer him anyway.


	97. Shapeless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Odo, Mora Pol, Benjamin Sisko, Jadzia Dax
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: In "The Begotten," instead of Odo getting his shape shifting abilities back, Julian (for whatever reason) holds the dying changeling and he gets shapeshifting abilities. [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/164571365563/this-is-silly-not-dark-though-i-suppose-anything)]

“Is there nothing you can do?” Odo asked.

Julian really hoped Odo wouldn’t ask him that, especially in that helpless tone. He worked pediatrics. He knew the desperation that parents felt when their children were on the verge of death. He knew the tone their words took on. And there was Odo, carrying them all, along with the tube that held the blackened changeling mass.

“I’ve done everything I can,” was all Julian could answer with. He watched Odo’s shoulders sag. Doctor Mora Pol almost replicated the same response. But all he offered was silent comfort. “I think some physical contact might serve the changeling well in it’s final moments.”

Odo nodded and turned to him. Julian cupped his hands. Odo tipped the canister. The changeling slid into Julian’s hands. It settled in seconds. But it still moved against his fingers, his palms, and slid slowly. He hoped the heat was a comfort. He heard the glass be set aside. Julian was ready to pass the changeling on to Odo, but the changeling pushed into him.

No, it wasn’t a push. It was a seep. The being slipped into the pores of his skin, soaked into the layers, and slipped through his blood. A second later, the world went black.

Julian was aware of himself, aware of his thoughts, his feelings, his confusion. Yet, he floated in a blackness unlike anything he’d experienced before. No, he wasn’t floating. There was ground. He felt it against him. Against his feet? No. He had no feet. He had a form. A form he tested. He moved right. The texture of the floor, the infirmary carpet, rolled against him. He hit something cold. He recoiled, then realized he likely hit the infirmary counter. He purposely pressed himself against it again, felt the cold, the metal, the mass. Then he spread himself across it. Not completely. He didn’t want to lose the floor. He didn’t want to lose his place in the world, no matter what that was.

He was still himself, still his thoughts and feelings, but he wasn’t human. A changeling? Had he really become one? How was that possible? He’d asked a similar question when Odo’s changeling abilities were stripped away. Did all changelings have that gift? To give and take morphing abilities at will? Could he give this to Odo without losing himself? Was that even possible? Or was death part of the changeling birth process?

He felt vibrations against the carpet. Julian pooled onto it again. Footsteps? Must be. They were rhythmic, high paced. Panicked? Possibly. There was no way for him to know. He couldn’t hear or see. Not in the human sense. He was aware of presences, he felt vibrations, but the languages seemed foreign and nothing he could make out seemed to make sense.

Julian remembered Odo speaking about being an object. You had to think of it, like you were it. So, Julian pictured a human ear, the inner workings, how that translated into the human brain, the communications center. He tried to form it, to will it to work, but all he caught was a dampened world. Words did come, but it took so much effort to hear them that he couldn’t fully process for a few moments.

“… im back?”

“There may not be a way to separate the changeling from Doctor Bashir.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We teach him to be a changeling. It’s all we can do for now.”

“I’ll teach him.”

“Constable–”

“I have been teaching a changeling for a while, Captain. I think I can keep doing the same.”

“It looks like you have a good student on your hands, at least.” Jadzia. That voice was clear. But had he done something to merit that statement? Had his form changed. Yes, it had. He made the ear, felt it, and then it was gone. He was a pool again. He would’ve sighed if he was capable of that. Instead, he spilled out into a slightly larger pool.

Cold touched him. The console again? No. The surface wasn’t quite as large. And it was softer. Julian moved to onto it. Hands. Small hands. Who’s, he couldn’t say for sure, but they were a comfort, as he hoped his hands had been to the dying changeling. They cupped his form. He felt air against him. Movement. Then he was transferred to the cylinder the dying changeling was in moments before. The glass caught the sound wavelengths much better than the floor had. Without effort, he could hear the people around him.

“How long do you think this will take?” Captain Sisko asked.

“I don’t know,” Odo answered, “But I will alert you to any progress.”

“Thank you, Constable. And good luck.”

“Bye, Julian.” Jadzia again. Julian couldn’t form a hand to wave. Instead, he pressed himself against the glass, paused, then immediately relaxed. It created a small wave effect. He hoped it was enough to signal his farewell.

“At least he’s taking to it nicely,” Doctor Mora said, “Maybe he’ll be easy to teach.”

Julian hoped so. Because he needed to figure out what happened and discover if his newfound form could be transferred to Odo. That was the way it should be, after all.


	98. Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, mentions of Gul Dukat
> 
> Warnings for guns, gun shot wounds, and blood.
> 
> Prompt: [The middle image in this fan art](http://bluedawn5.tumblr.com/post/164583381112/3). [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/164620227523/i-saw-this-art-by-bluedawn5-and-immediately)]

Everything was a routine.

Julian walked to his apartment building, climbed two flights of outdoor stairs, reached the door numbered 316, unlocked it, and pushed himself inside. He flicked on the light, shrugged off his backpack, and felt the weight of class lift off his lanky frame as the bag and books inside landed with a deep thump on the tile floor next to the door. He stood for a minute, eyes closed, and sighed. Then he turned, reached over the bag, shut the door, and locked it. The world was gone. It was just him the silence that permeated in the solely owned space. Finally.

Julian left the bag by the door and walked into the kitchen. Dinner. He didn’t have enough money to order anything, but he was sure he had Chinese leftovers from Garak’s impromptu date two days ago. He was sure he could reheat it and–

“I was beginning to wonder if something rather troublesome had befallen you, my dear.”

Julian jumped. His sneakers squealed against the tile. It covered the soft yelp that ripped from his throat. He turned to the source, his small dining table, and saw Garak sitting there, blue eyes boring into him. Julian thought to chastise the man right then and there, but then he saw the table. His first aid kit was open. Bandages and band-aids and bottles of medicines were strewn about it in no organized manner. There was a flashlight there too, placed inside the kit. Red painted the handle with one haphazard coat. Then there was Garak. He was leaned on the table, his shirt was ripped, his pale skin even more so, one hand was on his stomach.

“I apologize for my intrusion, my dear, I–”

“What happened?” Julian asked as he rushed over. He leaned Garak back and moved that hand. Blood went with it. Far too much. It soaked into Garak’s white shirt and black slacks. Beneath the fabric was a hole where blood continued to ooze from.

“I’m afraid I was shot.”

“We have to get you to a hospital.”

Julian stood and made a move to get to his back. Garak’s hand clamped onto his left wrist and held him in place. Julian turned. A serious look stared back. One Julian couldn’t remember ever seeing cross Garak’s face previously.

“I can’t go to the hospital.”

“But you–”

“It’s not safe, my dear. It also isn’t safe for you. I only came to your apartment because I believed your first aid kit would suffice. I’m afraid I was mistaken.” Garak’s hand let go of him and he pressed it against the table. “I’ll leave.” He tried to stand. The table held him, but his body didn’t. He buckled and grunted. Julian caught him by the upper torso.

“You can’t leave like this,” Julian said.

“I’m afraid I must. If I stay, I cannot guarantee your safety.”

“My safety is never guaranteed, Garak. The world is full of hazards. You’ve said so yourself.”

“So I have, but matters this time are different.”

“Why? Because someone shot you?”

“My dear, please–”

“I can’t let you leave this apartment without helping you, Garak.”

“You must.”

“Why? Because you said so?”

“Because if you attempt to help me, you will become a target yourself.”

“Then why stay and put a target on my back? Why not just take the first aid kit and leave?”

Silence. Garak’s eyes fell away. Julian tightened his hold, but not by much. He didn’t want to hurt him.

“Quit being stubborn and let me help you, Garak. Whatever happens after that we’ll deal with together.” There was a moment, then another, before Garak gave a defeated nod. Julian nodded with him. “Good. Come on, to my bed.”

Julian helped Garak to his bed. He knew Garak was aware of where it was, he’d spent many a night in it after all, but he wasn’t sure the man could walk on his own with that bullet in him. He helped Garak lay on the covers, then he returned to the table for a few items in the kit - tweezers, rubbing alcohol, bandages, the flashlight, a pair of unused gloves, his small suture kit, a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and a clean towel from one of the kitchen drawers. Then he came back. He pulled the gloves on, doused the towel in rubbing alcohol, and brushed the extra blood away. Garak jerked. Julian ignored it.

After a moment, Julian shined the light in the wound. He could see the end of the bullet. Without an x-ray he couldn’t be sure, but Julian thought it missed all of Garak’s major organs. That was a matter to be handled later. He put the flashlight aside, poured some water on the tweezers above the towel, and took a deep breath.

“Keep breathing for me,” he said, then he pushed the tweezers through the wound. Garak hissed and tensed. “Try and relax.” Garak let out a shaky breath, then took one in. Julian eased the tweezers down and caught the bullet. He pushed down a little further. Garak muffled a cry. Julian pushed the legs of the tweezers together and pulled up slowly. The bullet came with it. So did some blood. He placed the bullet aside with the tweezers, grabbed the towel, and pressed on the wound.

“We should leave,” Garak said.

“I need to stitch this up and bandage it first.”

“Julian, really–”

“If we don’t take care of this now, it can get infected, and that’s going to be worse to deal with. Trust me, Garak, it’s worth the wait.”

Garak said nothing. Julian didn’t bother checking the man for a facial expression. For the moment, he didn’t care. He poured more water on the second towel, wiped the blood away, and opened the suture kit. He threaded the curved needle and stitched the bullet wound shut. He put the excess away and pushed the needle in the empty water bottle. Then he placed a bandage on the new stitches.

“Sit up for me,” Julian said. Garak pushed himself up. Julian grabbed a roll of gauze and wrapped them tightly around Garak’s torso several times. Then he tore away the excess and stood. “Try not to do anything that’ll tear the stitches. I can redo them, but it’ll hurt.”

Julian grabbed the trash and threw it all away. Then he tore off his gloves and placed it in the trash as well. Then he gathered up the entire medkit, grabbed his backpack, pulled all of his books out, placed his medkit inside, ran to the refrigerator, grabbed his last five bottles of water, some granola bars, and the trail mix he’d made three days prior. It was the only food he had that wouldn’t go to waste outside the refrigerator. Then he grabbed his stuffed bear from the shelf and tossed him in the bag. Then he zipped it up and looked for Garak, who was by the front door. They exchanged nods, then Garak peered out the front door. After a second, Garak stepped out. Julian turned off the lights, closed the door, and locked it behind them. Then they went.

It was only after the first flight, under the gleam of one of the apartment outdoor lights, that he noticed that Garak was holding a gun. Julian tensed and swallowed, but kept pace.

They descended down the full stairs and into the back lot, away from where Julian’s car was parked.

“Garak, I have a car we can use,” he whispered.

“That’s nice.”

Garak walked straight to a car Julian had never seen before. The back window was broken out. Glass glittered across the back seat. Garak opened the driver’s side door. Julian entered on the passenger’s side. Julian watched Garak start the car without the key and they left. There was no radio, no talking - nothing but the wind rushing through the back window that ushered in the California night air.

“Where are we going?” Julian asked.

“I have a contact.”

A contact. That sounded reassuring. Julian thought to say so, but this was the first time Garak hadn’t spoken openly on something the entire time they knew each other. He was so quiet. Eerily so. It wasn’t the time, Julian realized, and kept his mouth shut. His eyes flicked from the windshield to the rear view mirror to the side mirror. He looked for cars, for people, for anomalies. Everything seemed normal. Everything looked routine.

“I apologize for bringing you into this, my dear,” Garak finally said fifteen minutes after they left the apartment. “I’m afraid I was not thinking clearly.”

“That’s okay. I didn’t have much planned anyway.”

Garak hummed. Julian glanced over. A touch of a smile picked up the corner of Garak’s lips. But it was quick to fade.

“I was shot by an old work companion of mine. Skrain Dukat. I’m afraid our history is far too complicated to explain at the moment, so I’ll simply state that we did not exit on the best terms. He betrayed my boss, so I betrayed him. A simple exchange of back stabbings. Though he was not so thrilled with the exchange. I was told by the government that I would remain safe in this town, and could even continue to use my real name if I so wished. I voiced my concern over the matter, but they were quite insist I, and my chosen companions, would remain safe.”

“Why did that change?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know. That’s why we’re on our way to this contact. If there is anyone who would know, it’s them.”

“They’re close?”

“Three hours away.”

“That’s a long drive to a contact.”

“We thought it best to remain distant. Safety measures. I’m quite certain they’re safe, though. If they were targeted first, I would have received word and skipped town long before Dukat was able to make contact with me. I’m also certain they have received word of incidents today and are awaiting my arrival as we speak.”

“You’re sure they’ll stay safe?”

“Quite sure.”

“And what about us? We’re driving around in a stolen car.”

“It’s not stolen.”

“But the window–”

“Was shot out. And the car simply starts without the key because I’m the only one who can start it. It was designed that way.”

Julian felt questions rise through him. There were so many that wanted to touch his lips, so many that wanted to slip free. But in his enthusiasm, in his near joy, he asked the one that clouded over all the others.

“Are you a spy?”

Garak chuckled.

“I told you that those James Bond books of yours would taint your thoughts, my dear. No, I’m afraid I’m not a spy. If you must know, I used to work for a secret order. I cannot say which one. But my involvement made me privy to far too much information and the government decided that it would be best to enlist me as an agent of sorts. Not a spy. It is all work within the country that relates to security of a sort.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“No.”

Julian frowned. He could see that touch of a smile reappear on Garak’s face.

“If the contact allows you to know more, then I’ll share more with you. But for now, that’s all I can say. Now, if you wish, we can continue talking about another subject, perhaps one of those ridiculous books your English professor is insistent you read, then we can continue to converse. If not, the radio is free for you to use. It has no extra functions built into it, I assure you.”

Curiosity still bubbled. He hoped his questions were answered. But for the moment, he pushed it aside and talked about Jane Austen instead. He hoped the conversation would alleviate the stress that built up in the car and refused to leave, even with the back window open.


	99. Another Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir
> 
> No warnings.
> 
> Prompt: Can you please write like a fluff fic where Julian goes to Garak's shop (like after Garak's first episode) to buy a few skirts or sundresses or whatev bc he's Genderqueer/NB. Garak is all nice because in the Trek world Trans is pretty common place. The whole thing is like "just another day making a customer look great!" thing. [[x](http://writertobridge.tumblr.com/post/164766182028/can-you-please-write-like-a-fluff-fic-where-julian)]

The door opening broke Garak out of his work-induced trance. He glanced up from the black and greens of the Andorian fabric and caught the gaze of Doctor Bashir, who’s gentle smile brought a familiar warmth that carried like a modest Cardassian wind. In the doctor’s hand was a Federation PADD. Garak offered a smile of his own.

“I wasn’t aware we had arrangements today,” Garak said.

“We don’t. I want to place an order.” Julian stopped near the counter.

“Another one of your holosuite costumes?”

“Not this time. I’d actually like to get something casual I can wear around the station.”

“Did you have something in mind?”

Julian pushed the PADD towards Garak with it’s usual enthusiastic flare. Garak took it and looked upon the screen. There were a few pictures to cycle through. All of the pieces were dresses - knee length, sleeveless ones with just an edge of play curling against the seams. Reds and oranges were painted across all of them. The necklines were all the same too. They were angled, with points near the arms that offered a square appearance. Garak frowned.

“Charming pieces,” Garak said, “But may I ask you a question, Doctor?”

“Of course.”

“How attached are you to the choice of neckline?”

Garak glanced up. Julian’s smile turned into a small frown. The doctor’s brows creased together in a familiar press. A puzzlement. Garak placed the PADD aside and picked his own up off the work station. He flicked through several images.

“The square neckline that you’ve chosen gives the piece a more sophisticated feel. If you are aiming for a casual look, as you insisted, there are better options, especially with the colors you’ve chosen.” Garak stopped on a different neckline, voided the colors of the dress, and turned the PADD to Julian. He showed the doctor a rounded neckline closer to the neck with a sleeveless design. “A jewel neckline.”

“You don’t think it’s too conservative?” Julian asked. Garak turned the PADD around again and backed through a few options.

“If you wish to show more skin, there are options for that as well,” Garak answered. He chose a wider opening, one that would still cover the dear doctor’s collarbone but showed some shoulder, then turned it for Julian to see. “A bateau, perhaps. It is not quite as casual that the jewel neckline, but it does showcase your shoulders more.”

“What about an off-the-shoulder neckline?” Julian asked. Garak turned the PADD around, flicked to one such option, and turned it back to the good doctor.

“They are designed to be more sophisticated, but with the right print and accessories, I believe such a neckline could be made for a casual dress.” Garak saw the enthusiasm wash back over Julian’s face. He turned the PADD around once more. “One more neckline for you consideration, Doctor.”

Garak flicked through the options. He stopped on a neckline with a sheer piece. Under the collarbone, the fabric was changed to a solid, to cover what skin the good doctor would have over his chest, over his heart, and anything below it. He turned the PADD. “This is an illusion neckline. You will not have any sleeve fabric you have will be sheer, so you can showcase as much of your shoulders and collarbones as you wish. These are usually intended for formal events, but I believe I can make you a casual dress with such a neckline.”

“Could we use the same colors as the other dresses?”

“Yes, I believe so.” Garak placed the PADD on the counter and moved to the design portion. He input Julian’s sizing into a program, which he saved for such occasions, and picked a knee-length option. The cut itself looking quite suitable, though a little too formal. He spoke as he changed the pleating of the skirt, the waistline, the cut of the solid neckline. “Such necklines are better for dresses of a solid color. But a thin belt would break up the bold color nicely but still provide you with the casual appearance you’re looking for.”

Garak applied a rich red - one without patterns - a changed the top to a sheer red of the same shade.

“It’s pretty,” Julian said. Something hung on the doctor’s words. Garak looked over at them. Despite the compliment, a frown reemerged.

“You don’t sound convinced, Doctor.”

“No, I am, it’s pretty, it’s just… the color looks weird the model’s skin.”

“You are quite tan, my dear. May I suggest a pink, perhaps?” Garak switched the color palette to a gentle pink. Julian hummed. Garak continued to change the hues slowly, silently.

“Stop.” Garak paused at a light pink, a near while. “A little pinker.” Garak edged the scale. “There. That. I love that.”

“It’s not quite the look you came in here with, Doctor.”

“That’s okay. I like this more.”

“Excellent. Shall I make this order for you?”

“Please!” Julian’s enthusiasm made Garak smile. He saved the image and transposed the dress size information to his order list.

“I’ll begin your order a week from today. Would you like to order another piece as well, something more suiting to what you came in with, or would you rather wait for this order to be completed first before deciding on another?”

“I’ll wait. Who knows, maybe Chief O’Brien and I will have other holosuite costumes to order. Thanks, Garak. And see you for lunch tomorrow?”

“Yes, see you tomorrow.”

Julian grinned and nearly skipped out the door. Garak could feel the doctor’s positive energy resonate in his shop for hours after they left.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Of Cardassians and Amnesia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10317917) by [TrekkingThroughLife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekkingThroughLife/pseuds/TrekkingThroughLife)




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